


Like a Feather

by KenyaKetchup (temptedmelibea)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Companion Piece, Depressing, F/M, Gen, POV Frisk, POV Second Person, Reader Is Frisk, Sad Frisk, Some Fluff, Ugh, sans is awful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:45:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 52,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short stories and drabbles based on the awful story that is Creep, but from Frisk's point of view and about Frisk's life.</p><p>This is meant as a companion piece for Creep, so... This will be horrible. </p><p>Archive Warnings will eventually apply for some of these stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Your Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunkenGardens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunkenGardens/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Creep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752618) by [KenyaKetchup (temptedmelibea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup). 



> GRAPHIC VIOLENCE WARNING IN THIS ONE

It was your birthday, but nobody came.  
  
Specifically, you had been hoping your mom would come home early from work. You hadn’t expected anyone else. You didn’t have any friends. And maybe that was because you were more than just a little bit awkward, or maybe it was because you were never quite able to muster the courage to speak to anybody your age.  
  
Or maybe it was because you were just wrong and you didn’t deserve to have any friends.  
  
But your mom should have been home by now. Today was a Friday, and Fridays were some of her busiest days at work, but she had promised—and you felt _so bad_ , you felt so selfish being upset over this, but it was almost eight at night and you had been _hoping_ , since it was your _birthday_ —  
  
Mom so often broke her promises to spend more time with you, but you had been _hoping_ , on your _tenth birthday_ , she wouldn’t.  
  
And you felt guilty and you felt _selfish_. You so tried not to think this way. It wasn’t as if Mom was out partying or having fun; she was working. She was probably having another hard day at work, she often worked _so hard_ —  
  
Mom had often explained to you how hard it was to support you both because Dad wasn’t ever around.  
  
Not that Dad was a bad person. He had just never married Mom. And now that he was married, he was so busy. He and his wife had _three children_ —your half-siblings? It was so bizarre to think of them as your siblings, you saw them and their mom even less frequently than you saw Dad.  
  
But still, Dad had called you today. It had been late when he did, but he had called. He _always_ remembered your birthday, even if his calls were brief. Even if he barely saw you.  
  
But he barely saw you because he had _three children_ and his wife often wanted to spend family time together and it was _so selfish of you_ , really, to want to steal that time away from them.  
  
Mom finally came home while you were on the phone with Dad and you felt so bad to have to end the call, but you did so you could hug Mom. It was almost time for the twin’s bedtime story anyway and you knew Dad never skipped that.  
  
He was a great dad.  
  
Mom kissed you in the cheek and she looked tired, so tired, but she still smiled at you and handed you a bag. “Sorry I’m home so late, sweetie. Work was _insane_ today. Happy birthday! This is for you.”  
  
You tried hard to smile and said “Thanks, mom,” as you opened it. She had probably bought it last minute, but the fact that she _remembered_ —that she went through the trouble to get you anything—  
  
Your heart stopped and you almost cried when you looked inside the bag and saw the sweater.  
  
It was the _exact one_ you had wanted at the beginning of the school year, when Mom had taken you clothes shopping on her day off. You hadn’t been able to afford it back then, you had felt so selfish for pointing it out before you knew how expensive that sweater was, but Mom had _remembered_ , she had gone back to the store _just to get it for you_ —  
  
“They only had it in a Large,” Mom told you, and she sounded apologetic, but you didn’t care what size the sweater was. You didn’t care that it was too big for you.  
  
You hugged Mom so tight.  
  
She may not always be around, and you more often than not felt like an inconvenience to her, but at least your mom _cared_. She _loved you_.  
  
And you loved your mom _so, so much_.


	2. Camping

The signs said not to feed the squirrels, but you still did.  
  
There wasn’t much else for you to do here, camping with your dad and his family at the base of Mount Ebott. You felt so uncomfortable, sitting awkwardly by yourself while everyone else was enjoying themselves.  
  
You felt bad for not having fun. Mom had fought _so hard_ to convince Dad to take you on this trip with him. And you felt so bad about it, you had overheard—  
  
You had overheard Mom crying into the phone that she was tired and that she just needed a break from you.  
  
And then Dad agreed to take you, and you got to go on this trip, and you knew you should be grateful that you would get to spend all this time camping with dad and your half-siblings but you—  
  
They felt like strangers to you.  
  
You felt unwanted. Like you were intruding on their happy family moment. You were not supposed to be here, weirding out your dad’s wife and his kids with your awkwardness and your extreme shyness and your lack of talking.   
  
They had gone swimming at the lake but you hadn’t brought a swimsuit.  
  
And you just wanted to go home, even if you were going to be home alone.  
  
Better yet, you wished there was a way that you could disappear.  
  
You didn’t want to stay here and you didn’t want to go back home where you would just be a burden for Mom.  
  
You were just an awkward waste of space, really.  
  
And then you remembered that you were at the base of Mount Ebott.   
  
And you felt a sudden urge to _climb_.


	3. Toriel

The year you spent with Toriel was the best year you’d ever had.  
  
The goat monster cared about you from the moment she saw you had fallen down and rescued you. She had grown to love you. She called you “my child” in a way that was so affectionate, so full of love, that you couldn’t help but love her back.  
  
She asked you to call her Mom one day and you did.  
  
It felt right. Your life on the Surface was gone. It had been the greatest kindness you could give to the people you had been a burden on, the people you had loved so much.  
  
Toriel was your family now. She didn’t have a demanding job like your real mom. She didn’t have a better family, like Dad. Your new Mom was always available to you; always made sure you were happy and healthy. She always had time—always had energy—always had love.  
  
She always made sure you never got lonely in the Ruins, and after a while you didn’t feel so alone.  
  
It had been the first time in your life you had ever felt so comfortable. You started talking to her, _really talking_ , you weren’t afraid to take up too much of her time or of her space or of her energy.  
  
You had begun to not feel nearly as awkward and worthless, down here with new Mom. With _Mom_.  
  
You got too comfortable thinking that love and attention were not finite resources with Toriel.  
  
And then one day you could no longer fight the voice—the _good voice_ —that encouraged you in your dreams to move forward.  
  
You left the Ruins. Your new Mom did not go with you.  
  
Your new Mom asked you instead to not ever come back.  
  
And it hurt.


	4. Meeting Sans

You didn’t have time to mourn the loss of your new Mom. Flowey was waiting for you once you exited the Ruins, and so you ran, but then you ran into something _worse_.  
  
A skeleton.  
  
“ **human**.”  
  
Your entire body burned in recognition and you knew at once that you had seen this monster before. It was the same monster from your nightmares, your nightmares full of murder and dust. Seeing this skeleton meant for you burning flesh, searing pain, piercing bones…   
  
You must be still dreaming. This was a _nightmare_.  
  
_You had been so afraid for months of this particular skeleton.  
_  
“ **don’t you know how to greet a new pal?** ”  
  
What? No, it never spoke to you in your nightmares this way—  
  
What happened to the beautiful days, the singing birds, being killed on sight?  
  
And your hands didn’t feel covered in dust. Were you _somehow_ _awake_?  
  
“ **go on,** **shake my hand**.”  
  
You panicked. And you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t run. You had s _o often tried running_. This was a nightmare, _it had to be_ , and it didn’t follow the script but that only made it _worse_. You gave him your hand and _something else_ stirred inside of you,   
  
like a gleam of recognition, from a dream within a dream.  
  
The feeling was gone as soon as it began and then you heard the farting noise from what felt in your hand like a whoopee cushion.  
  
You couldn’t help it. _That_ had been _so unexpected_. You _laughed_.  
  
And the skeleton monster was so friendly with you after that, you were sure at once that all the nightmares had been just that.


	5. The two of them and reaching Snowdin

You were quiet, so quiet, and so you loved Papyrus because he was _so loud_.

He filled your silence. And he was so passionate about capturing humans, and so passionate about puzzles, that you felt you could be passionate about—well, not about capturing humans—but about puzzles, as well.

And you had only just met him a few hours ago. And yet you felt like Papyrus could someday become a close friend.

_A real friend_.

Dare you dream?

And meanwhile, Sans was—different.

He wasn’t loud, like Papyrus. He didn’t cover your silence with a loud enthusiasm and dramatic antiques. And he was _funny_ , he was _intentionally funny_ , unlike Papyrus—

And he was quieter than Papyrus and he probably noticed your shyness and your quietness more than Papyrus and yet _he still noticed you_.

He still _went out of his way_ to _chat with you_.

And you were a quiet kid, and you were shy, but even though he seemed to notice that (unlike Papyrus), he _didn’t seem to mind_.

Sans seemed to be glad to just enjoy your company.

It was darker out when you finally made it to Snowdin, and you guessed this meant that it was night time.

You were so grateful to see the Inn. You imagined that’s why so many of the monsters you’d befriended had insisted on giving you a bit of money.

You started to make your way to the Inn and then suddenly, Sans ran into you again.

When had he gotten here? Last time you’d seen him, you had left him behind you.

“hey, kid. i’m guessing you’re tired?” He grinned at you as you wearily shook your head, didn’t ask you anything else. You _so appreciated_ how he never asked you to speak up (unlike dad’s wife, unlike his kids, unlike your teachers and your classmates and…).

“yeah, me too. in fact, i’m _bone tired_ ,” he said, and he seemed especially pleased when you let out a small giggle. “i think my brother is planning to ambush you when you leave snowdin. how about you stay for a bit? wanna go grab a bite to eat?”

You felt your eyes grow wide and enthusiastic at the concept of food. You hadn’t realized it until now, but you were _starving_.

Sans noticed the way you reacted and winked. “grillby’s is this way. c’mon, i know a shortcut.”

And then he took your hand— _like you were friends?—_ and then next thing you knew, without any idea of how he’d actually done it, you were in front of a restaurant. Sans let go of your hand and winked at you as if the teleportation was just a little joke between you.

And Sans was nothing like you’d dreamed he would be, and he was laid back and casual and the complete opposite of Papyrus, but he still was—

To _you_ , at least—

_Incredibly impressive_.


	6. Making Friends

You had never known what it was like to be included, until one day Monsterkid saw you while he was with a group of friends.

 

"Yo!" he yelled at you and then the group approached. "You're that new kid!"

 

And then _you tensed_. Usually, to you, a group of kids meant bullying. It meant kids making fun of you because you were shy and quiet and you were always alone and your mom never picked you up on time—and why were you _so weird?_

 

But then Monsterkid said "We're going to go throw rocks at Jerry's house. He hates that! It’s so funny. Wanna come?"

 

And it felt— _wrong_ —to do that. You didn’t _want_ to. You had actually met Jerry before and he was odd, but you didn’t hate him. But then…

 

You had never actually _been invited_ to anything, and you desperately wanted to make friends, and so you nodded your head and then you went.

 

You felt _so guilty_ as the others threw rocks but you still laughed along and you tried to have fun and then Monsterkid gave you a rock and _you threw it_.

 

You felt guilty as soon as you did.

 

And then Sans' voice caught you completely off guard from behind you.

 

" _just what do you think you four are doing, you little brats!?_ "

 

Somebody shrieked. " _Run!!!_ "

 

And you were about to run with the group too but then Sans caught you and Monsterkid by your sweaters.

 

You had never seen Sans _so angry_. The lights in his eyes were gone. You were _terrified_ —

 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you frantically braced yourself for _a flash of blue_ —

 

" _you two_. you think it's fun to disrespect your neighbors? we are going over there _right now_ and you are going to _apologize_ for what you’ve done."

 

"Sorry! Sorry!" you yelled. And then you started crying and _great_ , Monsterkid had seen.

 

_So much for making friends._

 

But then Monsterkid started tearing up too and apologizing.

 

Sans dragged you both to Jerry's house. You both apologized profusely, and then Sans let Monsterkid go (after a stern “i’m telling your parents”) and MK ran away.

 

He left you two alone.

 

Sans was still upset with you.

 

"you know, i'm not that surprised about the other brats. but _you_ , kid—i'm disappointed," he told you. The words hurt.

 

You started tearing up again with shame and admitted, _very quietly_ , "I just wanted them to _like_ me."

 

And you were probably being pathetic. And of course, Sans wouldn't understand. Everybody liked him—he wasn't a weirdo, _like you_. 

 

Sans let out a long sigh. He gave you an awkward pat in the back. He wasn’t nearly as comforting as Mom was, but you understood that; Sans had made it clear to you that he had zero experience with children. You appreciated his effort all the same.

 

" _look_ , kiddo—how about you come over for dinner tonight? we can watch a movie afterwards. just you, me and pap."

 

You sniffled and ungracefully wiped your face with your sleeve. "okay."

 

"and kid—you know—my brother and i—we like ya, alright? there isn't anything _not_ to like."

 

You almost started crying again.

 

“so don’t try so hard, okay?”

 

You caught him off guard and you hugged him. “Okay.”

 

Sans didn’t move much. You could tell he was really uncomfortable; he wasn’t as openly affectionate as Papyrus was. But still, he let you hug him, and you smiled up wide at him all the same.

 

“Thanks, Sans.”

 

He averted his gaze nervously but grinned, “ _jeez_ , kid.”

 

You felt _included_.


	7. Sleepover

"YOUR ROOM!? YOUR ROOM HASN'T BE CLEAN IN YEARS, SANS! WE CAN'T BE THAT INHOSPITABLE! THE HUMAN SHOULD SLEEP IN MY ROOM!"

 

"pap, you can’t take the couch. you don't fit."

 

"THEN I WILL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR!!"

 

The two skeletons had been arguing like this for a while. This was the first time you were sleeping over. Papyrus had invited you, but now it was time to figure out where you'd sleep. You had been starting to make yourself comfortable on their couch when both Sans and Papyrus objected.

 

Sans had argued that he could take the couch and you could sleep in his room, but Papyrus was having none of it. He had long ago declared himself your _best friend_ and as such, had insisted that you should sleep in his room instead.

 

"Um, I really don't mind the couch," you said shyly. You really didn’t like seeing the two brothers fight, even if the reason they were fighting was beyond you. You had always been a cause of conflict between your parents, but for the exact opposite reason. Mom and Dad had both fought because they wanted to get rid of you. They had never fought over who got to have you sleeping over at their place.

 

"HUMAN THERE IS NO WAY YOU ARE SLEEPING ON THIS COUCH OR IN MY BROTER’S MESSY ROOM! I REFUSE! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM A GREAT HOST!!"

 

You looked over at Sans and sought for help. Sans immediately understood.

 

"you know what, bro. if the human wants to sleep on the couch that badly it would actually be pretty rude of us to refuse."

 

Papyrus gasped. "RUDE!? BY GOLLY, SANS, YOU ARE RIGHT!!! HOW DID I NOT SEE IT THAT WAY!? I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM NOTHING IF NOT ACCOMODATING!"

 

"then it's settled," Sans said. He grinned and winked at you. You felt your face flush slightly.

 

Sans was always on your side.

 

"let me know when you're ready for your bedtime story, pap," Sans told Papyrus, and then the taller skeleton ran to brush his teeth. He left you and Sans alone.

 

There was a bit of an awkward silence as you both adjusted to the lack of Papyrus-related noise and then Sans asked you "do you, uh, want one?"

 

You were confused. "What?"

 

"a bedtime story," Sans said, placing a hand to his head awkwardly, and he once again looked at a loss about what to do. He was even more clueless around you than your dad had been. But Sans still tried. And from the way Mom sometimes called to check in on you and asked about him, you knew Sans had gone to her door more than once and asked her for advice on how to help you.

 

He was definitely not a kid person. But he was sweet.

 

You often liked Sans even more than you liked Papyrus.

 

"I don't want to be a bother," you said honestly and smiled. "And actually, I don't think I'm into the kind of comic books Papyrus likes."

 

Sans snorted. "they _are_ rather juvenile," he admitted, but then he caught himself and said—"uh. no offense, kiddo."

 

Papyrus called Sans from his bedroom. Sans was about to go upstairs, but then he seemed to get an idea and his grin widened. "actually, pap usually falls asleep within about half an hour. if you're still awake, we could watch a show together."

 

And you almost laughed at what a lazy substitute for a bedtime story that was, but you actually kind of liked that idea. You had never got to just sit and watch tv with your dad. 

 

"That sounds nice," you told him, and it was the honest truth.

 

Sans went up and read Papyrus his bedtime story. You stayed on the couch, half-expecting Sans to come back and say he was too tired to watch tv after all, and could you do that some other time. You were ready to not be selfish, to not feel disappointed, if he changed his mind about spending time with you like Mom always had. But then half an hour later, _he came back_ —

 

And _he actually sat on the couch with you as promised_ and said—

 

"you sure you don't want to take my room? i can sleep on this couch, easy."

 

And you shook your head and then Sans _actually watched tv with you_.

 

You had more fun listening to his hilarious running commentary and impromptu voice acting than you did watching Mettatton's terrible show.

 

And you watched one show, and then another one, and then another until Sans finally told you that “okay kiddo, for real this time you have to go to sleep, it’s pretty late”.

 

And you _really, really liked_ spending time with Sans. He was hilarious. He really cared about you.

 

He was so nice.


	8. The Bad Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GRAPHIC VIOLENCE WARNING IN THIS ONE

You were a heartless demon and there was not a single monster who escaped your wrath.

 

You killed them all. It didn't matter who it was you killed. You'd killed the dogs. You'd killed your neighbors. You'd killed every single Aaron, Temmie and Woshua that came your way. You killed them _all_ because you'd _sought them out_.

 

You'd killed _Papyrus_.

 

You'd killed him as he attempted to spare you. And killing him had _hurt_ , it had _hurt so much_.

 

_He died telling you you were his best friend_ and inside, you’d _screamed_.

 

And yet somehow, your screams never quite reached your mouth. Somehow, you were unable to stop yourself. Somehow, you just kept trying to make the world hurt. You were an _awful human being_ and you hated yourself and there was just _so, so much wrong with you_ and—

 

And Sans probably hated you just as much as you did. You had killed everyone he loved—probably _loved more than you_ —while he’d slept.

 

In the end, he woke up. He found you in Waterfall.

 

His eye was blue and he—

 

He didn't even _tell_ you that you were in for a bad time but you _knew_ you were.

 

"pulling this shit again, kid?" he snarled as your soul went blue. He looked _angry_ , _so angry_ —and you were _so, so afraid of him_ and yet you _laughed_.

 

You _couldn't stop laughing_.

 

And it was _the bad voice_ that spoke.

 

"Sans! Nice of you to finally show up! I was starting to worry." Your voice was tinted with a _taunting, mock concern_ that was so uncharacteristic to you. "Are you alright? You look like you've had a— _hah!_ — _death in the family_."

 

You took out your knife. You lunged at him.

 

He held you down with his blue magic but _he didn't kill you quite yet, he never killed you quite yet—_

                                                                                              

He _took his sweet time._

 

The first of many sharp bones pierced the skin of your leg and you wanted to _scream_ , you wanted to _run_ or _hide from him_ , but _he held you there he held you_ _there_ and suddenly his bony hand was on your throat.

 

"let's play a game," he said. "how many bones can i stick in you until you're _dead_?"

 

Another sharp bone pierced your left arm. You felt a sharp burning sensation as it pierced right through you.

You wanted to _scream_ and you couldn't breathe, _he was choking you_ , you were going to die strangled before you _bled to death_.

 

Another sharp bone now, _slowly and agonizingly piercing your shoulder_. You _knew_ it wouldn't be long now, before he moved on to the vital organs—You _knew it wouldn't be long_ and yet _death couldn't come fast enough_.

 

He temporarily loosened his grip on your neck, and you tried _so hard to resist_ , tried hard to just die from the lack of oxygen, but your body won over your will and you took _a desperate breath_.

 

He _laughed the same laugh he laughed while watching tv with you_. "good girl. let's prolong this, shall we?" And then he _squeezed your throat_ again _so viciously_ that _your neck was bleeding_.

 

He was on top of you. All of his weight was on your chest.

 

It _hurt_ —

 

Another _sharp bone slowly pierced through you_ and then _another bone_ and then _another_ and _his grin_ was _so frightening_ and—

 

You woke up, screaming.

 

The _bad voice_ ringed in your head: _He's a real sadist, isn't he?_

You felt your breathing pick up. Deep breaths that felt shallow, fast but never fast enough. Your entire body was shaking. You couldn’t— _think_ —.

 

Your hands felt numb as you dialed his phone number and it was _late_ , it was _very late_ , but when it wasn't a dream he _always picked up the phone_ and he _always, always made you feel better—_

 

"hey, kiddo,” his voice, so deep and so friendly, sounded like relief to your ears. “couldn't sleep?"

 

You were quiet, _so quiet_ you felt mute, but Sans just kept talking to himself as if you had answered.

 

"yeah, me neither. wanna just chat for a while?

 

"there's leftover spaghetti here if you want to come over and throw it out so we can have some chips from my stash."

 

That got a small laugh out of you.

 

"i can go pick you up,” he offered. “i know a shortcut."

 

He was there as soon as you smiled and whispered “Okay”. He held out his hand, you had to force yourself not to run to him.

 

And then he wrapped you in a hug and he moved you to his and Papyrus’ kitchen and _you were the best of friends now_ , weren’t you, Sans was the greatest friend you would _ever have_ —

 

And sometimes, even though you were just twelve, even though you had never felt quite this way and you didn't have anyone to talk to about it, you were _so sure_ that _you loved him_.


	9. Silly Crush

It had just occurred to you that you didn't know his last name.

 

Was it really just Sans the Skeleton? What would that make you, in your silliest daydreams? Mrs. Skeleton? Mrs. the Skeleton?

 

You furiously erased both alternatives from your notebook—a gift from Sans—and hoped nobody saw.

 

And _oh god_. What would you do if anyone saw the things you idly wrote as you waited for Sans to get off work?

 

 _And oh god—_ what would you _do_ if it was _Sans_  who saw the things you idly wrote as you waited for him to get off work?

 

Nobody could know. Your feelings for Sans were too embarassing. You couldn't even fully identify how this crush had started. One day you were just on your way to the Inn, feeling determined, when suddenly a rush of affection for Sans flew over you. You loved him. You were _so sure_ you loved him. And although you didn't know exactly _where_ the feeling had come from, it still came as no surprise to you that you felt the way you did...

 

Sans was so nice.

 

He was so funny.

 

He was so approachable, and _caring_ , and clever, and smart, and— _and you blushed_ —and he was pretty handsome... You'd never realized that before...

 

He made your heart flutter and your knees feel weak.

 

And you didn't dare talk much to him because he made you feel so nervous. You were afraid of saying something stupid. Of having _him_ find out you were stupid. But when you did talk to him, the few occasions that you spoke, he always listened. And he was patient, and he was kind, and you felt like you could spend _ages_ in his company and you couldn't get enough time with him...

 

He was _so interesting_.

 

And you still often dreamed that he was cruel and slowly killed you and still the bad voice sometimes said mean things about him inside your head. But now sometimes your dreams were different...

 

Sometimes you dreamed that Sans took care of you when you got sick.

 

Sometimes you dreamed that Sans took you out hiking in the Snowdin forest.

 

Sometimes you even dreamed that Sans _hugged_ you, _hugged you for rea_ l, and told you what a great kid you were. How proud he was of you. How much he liked spending time with you.

 

He made you feel _so so special_ and sometimes the dreams felt like a memory.

 

You loved Sans. _You loved him_. He was _just_...

 

He made you feel _so_...

 

 _"He's a very bad and very dangerous monster"_ , the _bad voice_ — _Chara_ —whispered inside your head, and you immediately froze up. Could they _hear_ your _every thought?_

 

The voice didn't answer. You tried hard to ignore it. You tried hard not to wonder what was wrong with you. You were pretty sure that hearing voices wasn't normal, not even Underground and among monsters.

 

Sans sent you another text. He would be getting off work 10 minutes early.

 

You were going to be spending some time together today. Just the two of you, but not like on _a real date_ , you kept telling yourself, but a bit of time together without Papyrus. And you were so afraid to mess this up, you were so scared of having Sans think you were awkward, and shy, and _boring_ , and odd. He was just _so much cooler_ than you were and you couldn't believe that he even wanted to spend time with you, and yet he did.

 

He so often did.

 

He was your best friend.

 

"hey, kid." Sans greeted you from behind, startling you and causing you to promptly and _very nervously_ close your notebook. He didn't seem to notice how nervous you were, how completely _happy_ and _nervous_ and _excited_ he made you feel. He ruffled your hair playfully. You felt your cheeks get warm.

 

"so i was wrong. turns out i decided to get off work 10 minutes earlier than my usual 10 minutes early. how many minutes of work did that save me?"

 

"Twenty," you whispered, and he beamed at you. You so rarely spoke. He seemed to really like it when you did.

 

"you must be right. whoa, kid. you're so smart," he told you, and he was being so funny. You loved him. You loved him.

 

"so what do you wanna do today?" Sans asked you. "the library doesn't close until five. how 'bout grillby's, and then we can go there? i bet your mom would love it if i taught you how to use the dewey decimal system."

 

You smiled so wide at him. An entire afternoon just with Sans? That sounded great. You nodded.

 

And you were _so happy_.

 


	10. Death and Pain and Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here we go. The bad times have made an appearance.
> 
> Archive warnings and a HUGE TRIGGER WARNING apply here for child rape from Frisk's point of view. I hope I wrote this right. Jesus Christ.

You were with Sans. He was keeping you company while you painted a picture for Papyrus.

 

Sans had figured out that you liked art. You didn’t know how he knew. You didn’t know how he knew half the things he knew about you, including your name, yet somehow he knew. And so today, he just came home with a ton of art supplies for you. Claimed he’d found them somewhere, and maybe that was true. But it was clear to you he’d gone out of his way to get them for you.

 

Not even Sans could effortlessly find so many crayons and loose sheets of paper and an almost complete set of acrylic paint and paint brushes.

 

You showed Sans your progress. You had been trying to paint a decent picture of spaghetti for Papyrus.

 

And maybe it wasn’t a very good picture. You hadn’t painted anything since you fell down here, a little bit under two years ago, and you had been just a kid then. But still Art had been your favorite class, and you mostly remembered how to paint. And maybe the picture wasn’t very good, but maybe it was good enough. Sans looked so proud of you. Your heart skipped a beat.

 

 

The dream changed.

 

 

You were running as fast as you could, looking through all of Snowdin, until you finally found Sans by the waterfall in the outer limits of the town.

 

You had been desperately searching for him. You were feeling _so guilty_. Sans had woken you up while you were in the middle of a nightmare. He had _startled_ you when you opened your eyes to a room _full of his blue magic_ —the same magic you had been having nightmares about—you'd _screamed_ —

 

And then Sans disappeared. You felt so bad. You felt _so, so bad_. Maybe Sans knew you’d been afraid of him, then, when he’d woken you up.

 

You felt _so bad_ and so guilty that you'd been afraid of him and you felt _even worse_ now when an irrational part of you _still didn't want to approach Sans_ once you finally found him.

 

"hey, kid," Sans grinned. It was a forced grin. The same grin he had in place when he was worried because you were sad or sick.

 

He'd seen the fear in your eyes and _you had ruined this_. You had ruined your friendship, your first ever true friendship. Why did you always _ruin everything_? This was why neither of your moms had wanted to stay with you. This was why your dad—

 

Why your dad had never wanted to be around you—

 

You were _such_ a loser. A freak. Nobody loved you, not even Sans. Why would he love you when you were so freakishly afraid of him? When you had this creepy voice inside your head saying mean things about him? Sans was so cool... He had a bunch of other friends. He didn't _have_ to stick around and deal with _you_.

 

You were worthless. And couldn't bear the thought of Sans leaving you, too. You wanted to die. You wanted to die before you were rejected again, by yet another person you loved.

 

You ran to him and hugged him. You begged. And you felt _so vulnerable_ when you started crying—

 

_So selfish_ of you to cry in front of him. Your mom had always felt bad when she saw you crying.

 

"I'm sorry, Sans," you whispered into his chest, your hands desperately tugging at his hoodie as you begged. "I am _so, so sorry_ , I didn't mean to be scared of you, I am _so sorry_ , Sans. I had a nightmare and..."—you felt _so stupid_ and _ashamed_ and you started crying even harder—"I am just SO sorry, sorry for everything, I am _the worst friend_..."

 

He patted your head _so gently_ and let out a few cheesy jokes as he soothed you. You were so startled by that response that you laughed. Relief flooded over you.

 

He _didn't hate you_.

 

You started to relax. You were _so happy_ and grateful that Sans was your friend. But then Sans asked you what your nightmares were about, and you couldn't tell him. You couldn't tell him what a _sick freak_ you were, dreaming of being hurt by him and you killing everybody. But then Sans startled you when he asked—

 

"in your nightmare, you hurt people, yeah? do i also... hurt _you_?"

 

And _he knew_? _How long had he known_? Why was he still _friends_ with you?

 

He kept going: “i… i have the same nightmares too sometimes, _patella_ the truth. _tibia_ honest, i’m not that surprised you get them too, kid."

 

And then he told you a bunch of things that in your dream you couldn't quite make out.

 

Chara's voice started drowning out Sans' now. They sounded especially annoyed with you. “ _Oh boy we're not going to always be reliving **this** one while you sleep now, are we? Wow, Frisk, you are such a freak. But not as much as he is? I can't believe he **killed** us after this—the **sick bastard**.”_

 

You ignored Chara. You always tried to ignore Chara. And this was a dream? Why did it feel so real?

 

You felt your mouth move as you told Sans something but Chara drowned your own voice out with a chant of “ _Sick, sick, sick, sick, **sick**...”_

 

And then Sans _kissed you_. It came as a complete surprise. Did he love you?? You tuned Chara out. You were _so happy, so hopeful_ —

 

You gathered up all of your courage and kissed Sans back. 

 

“ _Frisk, **you're twelve**. He **knows** you're twelve. He shouldn't be doing this sick shit,” _ Chara told you.

 

You tuned them out. They were _the bad voice_.

And then suddenly you felt the world shift around you and you were in a bed and was this Sans' room? He was on top of you.

 

You felt a small and brief disappointment. You fully expected Sans to remind you it was past your bedtime. But then suddenly his tongue was in your mouth and he was pushing something stiff against you—

 

You froze. You weren't expecting this. You'd kissed him, a peck on the lips, but you _didn't know_ how to kiss him like this—and you were probably being bad at this whole kissing thing—and you were worried that he might not like you—and his tongue was wriggling around inside your mouth and _it felt kinda gross_ , you _wanted to stop_ —

 

You could _never_ , in a million years ask him to stop because what if he thought you didn't like him or what if he got upset and stopped liking _you_?

 

It happened so fast. He pulled down your zipper. He—he took off your pants—and _what was he doing!?_

 

Chara had suddenly gone _eerily quiet_. Like they didn't want to relive this part. Like they didn't want to relive _any of this_.

 

You didn't feel safe.

 

He ignored how uncomfortable you were feeling and he pushed your legs apart and there was something hard and bulky pressing against a part of you that you _knew_ shouldn't be touched—a part that was _private_. His hands were under your shirt. You wanted to _cry_ but you were _so afraid_ of Sans getting mad at you—

 

He felt up your chest and you _just froze_ and you _didn't say anything_ and he _loved_ you, right? He _hadn't said that he did_ , but he _loved_ you… _Right?_

 

_Maybe you should just wait until he got bored of doing this._

 

He took your hand in his and forced you to touch his thing.

 

_His penis. His penis._ You were freaking out. You _knew in theory that that was a penis._

 

It felt weird. Hot to the touch not unlike his piercing bones had felt. You _didn't want to touch it_ , and yet you couldn't move.

 

And then he pushed it against you.

 

You were _so startled_ that you suddenly found your voice.

 

"Sans— _wait_ —"

 

He didn't wait. He bit your neck. You _screamed_. It _hurt_ —It _really hurt_ —He was _punishing you he didn't like you someone anyone please—_

Sans _didn't care that you had screamed_ and pushed himself against you again. 

Something inside you started to hurt. You wanted to _stop_. You wanted him to stop. You _couldn't move_ and you _wanted to cry_ and you _wanted to beg_ and you _didn't want him to be angry at you_ and you _didn't want him to hate you_ and you _just wanted Sans to like you but please please you didn’t want to pay for it like this—_

 

_Not like this Mom mom help Dad Papyrus Sans just stop—_

 

_Sans just stop_ STOP _he didn't stop_ he pushed himself all the way in he groaned YOU SCREAMED it _hurt_ his _hips were too rough they slammed too hard_ against you were _dirty filthy broken hurt_ YOU CRIED you STARTED CRYING SO HARD and _screaming_ and then a _flash of blue_ and _death death Sans was death_ _and pain and agony_ and _Sans had been inside you filthy worthless gross—_

 

Sans woke you up.

 

He woke you up _very gently_. You had been cuddling together on his couch.

 

"wake up, kiddo, shhh," he told you, his own breathing slightly erratic. "you were having a bad dream."

 

A bad dream?

 

You felt a _wave of relief_ and felt your own face flush with _shame_ as you pressed yourself tightly against Sans. Your heart was racing. You’d had a bad dream. A _very sick_ bad dream. And what was _wrong_ with you?

 

If Sans could see inside your head, he'd be _disgusted_. You were a _freak_.

 

Sans spoke again, his voice so deep and soothing, and you couldn't help but be comforted by him, even though your nightmares were _about him_. "i don't think we're gonna get much sleep tonight, kid. you look wide awake. let me make you some hot chocolate? don't worry"—he winked—"pap wasn’t the one who taught me how to make it."

 

You let out a small chuckle, still slightly shaken from your dream. But this was _the real Sans_. You loved him.

 

You both moved to the kitchen and then he quickly disappeared, probably to look for something in his stash of forbidden non-pasta foods. Papyrus was _really_ bent on being the only cook of the house, but the tall skeleton absolutely sucked at it.

 

So Sans _always hid_ a small stash of edible food to share with you.

 

He came back with a jar cocoa powder and a bag of marshmallows, and your breath caught in your throat. How had he gotten _those_?

 

He winked at you as if he'd heard your silent question and told you "i was at the capital earlier today."

 

You both fell into a comfortable silence as Sans made two cups of hot chocolate. You thought of how happy he made you when he wasn't in your bad dreams.

 

Sans gave _both_ of the cups to you, stuffed to the brim with marshmallows. He winked again at you—"you can have both. i'd rather drink ketchup"—and then he—

 

He looked like he was hesitating—

 

But he pressed a _small_ reassuring kiss on the top of your head and you blushed even as a small and _irrational panic_ flicked through you. You suppressed it. This Sans made you feel safe. You should be okay with him touching you. You muttered a small "Thank you."

 

Sans never once stopped looking at you as you drank your first cup of hot chocolate. He looked like he was inspecting you. The chocolate itself made you feel warm and calm.

 

Sans looked _so worried_ about you and if you hadn't known any better you would say his eyes were full of _regret_.

 

He finally told you, voice warm and deep, "you're a great kid. you know that frisk, right?"

 

You smiled. You almost started crying.

 

Sans always found a way to make you like yourself a _little bit_.

 

You loved him _so much_. You couldn’t help but love him. You’d love him _no matter what_ , he was _so nice_.

 

And you were _so, so grateful_ that the real Sans was like _this_ and not _at all_ like he was in your nightmares.

 

You didn’t know what you’d do without him.


	11. Monsterkid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm dying. But I'm alive!!! I'm going to work on Creep after this. I've been super busy but I feel antsy going this many days without posting any updates. @_@ It's such a vicious cycle... I think I'm addicted to updating.

Sometimes you cried for no reason and you felt like an emotional wreck.

 

You didn't know _why_ you cried. What was _wrong_ with you? Your dad's wife had always insinuated that there was something _very wrong_ with your head. Your mom had always denied it, but you had always been such an awkward kid… And _now_ , between your random panic attacks, the talking voice in your head and your near-constant depression, you couldn't help but bitterly acknowledge that dad’s wife might have been right.

 

Maybe there _was_ an actual reason why _nobody wanted to be around you_.

 

Although that wasn’t exactly true anymore.

 

Sans and Papyrus had been willing to befriend you, despite your shyness and general awkwardness. You were _so grateful_ for Sans and Papyrus. 

 

And now Monsterkid wanted to hang out with you, too.

 

You had run into each other while you were out hiking alone in the Snowdin forest. You hadn’t found the courage to ask Sans to go with you, this time. Your skeleton friend didn’t like you coming here alone (he said it was dangerous), and so you _so often_ begged Sans to take you out to the forest, and sometimes he even agreed to, but lately he had been—

 

Off. Distant.

 

Sometimes you caught him looking at you like your presence alone was disturbing to him.

 

And there was _no way_ that you could ask Sans for his company on _yet another_ hike. He had already taken you not even two weeks ago. Sans _hated_ hiking, he _so often_ told you that he hated the effort involved. You still didn't know how you so often got lucky enough for him to agree to take you, he was literally the laziest sack of bones in the entire Underground. And it wasn't like hiking with Papyrus was much of an alternative—

 

Even if he hadn't been too busy today, _again_ , off training with Undyne, there was really little point in hiking with Papyrus. You loved and adored Papyrus, but the taller skeleton was _so loud_... It was a really poor match against the quiet solitude of the forest, the still calmness that invigorated your soul, the silent tranquility that you found _so_ peaceful—

 

Hiking with Papyrus was really _nothing_ like hiking with Sans, who _so often_ understood you. Sans always knew _just_ _when_ to joke, _just_ _when_ to remain content with your shared silence, _just when_ to wait _so patiently_ for you to speak because your mind was struggling to find the right set of words to match your thoughts.

 

You loved and appreciated Sans _so, so much_.

 

And sometimes, like today, you were _so afraid_ that he hated you.

 

You had been wallowing in fear and self-hate and self-disgust and anxiety when you came across Monsterkid. The boy monster remembered you, and your mind nervously wandered _yet again_ to that _very embarrassing_ moment when Sans had caught the both of you throwing rocks at Jerry's house.

 

There was a sudden flash of indignation that ran hot through you as it suddenly occurred to you that _Sans was not your dad_ , he had no business embarrassing you like that in front of Monsterkid when you had been so desperately trying to befriend him.

 

The feeling left as soon as it had appeared and—

 

And what a mess. Now you felt _randomly_ _angry_ , too?

 

You felt like crying again. You felt so _dirty_. So—

 

_So awful. Uncomfortable. Unclean._

 

You heard the unmistakable sound of Chara’s whispers in your head and tried to drown it out with your own overly loud and anxious thinking.

 

"Yo," Monsterkid greeted you. "You're that kid! Are you training out here too?"

 

The question confused you. You let out a _very awkward_ and hoarse " _What?_ "

 

"You training? You know, for when we're old enough to join the Royal Guard? Undyne is so strong! She won't let in just anybody!"

 

You paused. Was he being serious? “Oh. Um… No, I’m not really training…”

 

Suddenly he was in front of you. You instinctively took a step back. Monsters so often wanted to attack you in this forest—

 

But Monsterkid just smiled at you. He actually seemed pretty nice; he hadn’t actually ever been anything other than friendly to you. Maybe you still had a chance at being friends?

 

“Oh, dude. You should totally train. You wanna train with me? I can show you. You basically just look around for big rocks and boulders. Then I lift them with my tail. I’m getting pretty strong that way.”

 

“Um—”

 

“Yo! Come on! I know a place that is full of rocks. You can start with the smaller ones. C’mon, dude!”

 

And then Monsterkid grabbed your hand with his tail and he pulled you along with him and the place he ended up showing you was pretty cool—

 

You stayed with him lifting rocks for a long time. Monsterkid told you all he knew about Undyne and the Royal Guard. The way he talked about training and his wish of someday joining the Royal Guard, he sort of reminded you a little bit of a more passive and less loud Papyrus. His enthusiasm made you smile.

 

Monsterkid was nice. And he hadn’t _once_ pointed out how awkward you were.

 

It was beginning to get darker out when you received a text from Sans. He had somehow again figured out where you were—but that had stopped surprising you a long time ago.

 

You checked your phone and you had never gone through with taking the embarrassing heart emoticon off his name, _thank god_ no one ever checked your phone—

 

Sans <3 – didn’t i tell you to quit going to the forest by yourself?

Sans <3 – get back here kid.

 

You knew you were in trouble, now. And suddenly you knew that you had, at _most_ , fifteen minutes before Sans suddenly appeared to get you himself.

 

You began to panic. You had to go _now_ but you didn’t want to seem rude about it.

 

“I—Um—I have to go—” You mumbled shyly, sounding _completely apologetic_ , and _hoping beyond hope_ that Monsterkid would understand.

 

 “Was that your parents? _Ha_ , that sucks. _My_ curfew isn’t until ten”—Monsterkid bragged—“How old are you, anyway? _I’m_ almost 14.”

 

You shrugged. You were turning 13 next week but, if that meant you were going to be force-fed another snail birthday cake, you’d rather not tell anyone about it.

 

Monsterkid didn’t force you to answer. Instead he used his tail to take his phone out of his pocket. “Dude, give me your number. You text, right?”

 

You felt your eyes widening with surprise and your heart suddenly bounced with hope.

 

Had you just made _a new friend_?

 

A friend _your age_?

 

You gave Monsterkid your phone number. He gave you his.

 

And then that night, after sitting through Sans’ angry safety lecture, Monsterkid texted you.

 

MK – hey dude its mk

MK – did u get grounded?

Hi! J – You

I didn’t get grounded – You

 

And you didn’t exactly explain that Sans was your friend and not your parent, you didn’t exactly explain that you were living in Snowdin _without_ parents. You didn’t exactly want to tell Monsterkid your entire life story…

 

Maybe you were starting to be friends, but your life was private.

 

You made plans to hang out tomorrow. You were so excited.

 

And then Sans sat next to you on the couch and looked significantly less angry as he put his arm around your shoulders ( _his arm_ around your shoulders, _his actual arm around your shoulders!_ your heart was beating _so fast_ with glee!!).

 

Papyrus loudly asked if you wanted to pick the tv show tonight.

 

And maybe today you hadn’t felt the most stable, but by the end you felt pretty okay.

 

You could do this. You could survive through whatever these bad feelings were. Your friendships with Sans, Papyrus and now Monsterkid made you feel stronger than the bad times.

 

You could be strong for your friends. You were filled with determination.


	12. At Grillby's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL working on chapter 28 of Creep and this came up. @_@ *feels anxious that Creep hasn't updated, sorry, sorry, have this instead*

You wondered what his favorite color was, his favorite food, and when was his birthday? What was his favorite show?

 

You knew his favorite hobby— it was sleep, according to him, but you'd caught him more than once scribbling down what looked like math equations on random scraps of paper when he was bored or nervous. So maybe he also liked math?

 

You knew his favorite meal— in theory it could be anything with lots of ketchup, but fries seemed to be his food of choice.

 

You knew his favorite time of day (late afternoon to evening), his favorite puns (all bone related), his favorite person (Papyrus, with maybe you as a close second)...

 

But you wanted to know _everything_ and you wanted to be _perfect for him_ and you _loved_ Sans _so, so much_...

 

" _Could you_ stop _thinking about that awful monster?_ " the voice of Chara hissed in your mind. " _Oh my_ god _it's been nonstop for_ weeks."

 

You felt your cheeks go red and thought to Chara, " _I don't think about him all the time_..."

 

" _Ha!! That's rich. Yes, you do. All morning today you've been ‘Sansy this’, ‘Sansy that’_ —"

 

" _Don't call him ‘Sansy’!"_

 

" _We share the same body, don't we? I'll call_ my _half of our crush whatever I want!_ "

 

You froze with a sudden fear and indignation and— " _He's not your crush! You don't even like him!_ "

 

" _I_ hate _him,_ " Chara agreed. " _He's a_ vile _, horrible—_ _You know he killed us. He's done_ worse _. Heck, you're such a freak, you've made us relive it in your nightmares over and ove_ —"

 

" _That's a lie, that's a LIE!!!_ " you thought loudly at Chara, drowning out their thoughts. It was all you could do not to cover your ears with your hands in public. 

 

You took another sip of your milkshake as you waited for Sans to join you at Grillby's.

 

" _You really think you or I could make up something as twisted as the things he's_ done _?”_ Chara asked you. _“Well, maybe me, with the deaths thing—although_ I've _never tortured anybody like_ he _has—_ "

 

You couldn’t help but frown at yourself. " _You've never killed anyone either, and neither has Sans, you're just a freaky voice in my head_ —"

 

" _Whatever. The point is, our Sansy is a_ sick psycho _. And I'm pretty sure he has the hots for us—for_ you _, in particular—Jesus Christ isn’t that sick? He must be absolutely_ insane _, god knows how old he is, he could at the very least be our dad, maybe even our great great granddad, you can never tell age with these freaky monsters..._ "

 

" _Sans can't be that old_ ," you argued as you eyed Grillby, the fire monster, as he wiped down a table. It was almost impossible to think of him as anything but ageless, but he was literally flames, and Sans was—

 

He was, um, a _skeleton_ —

 

You completely ignored the ridiculous idea that Sans could ever reciprocate your feelings. You weren’t exactly about to bring your hopes up by listening to _Chara_ of all voices.

 

" _Yeah, whatever, let's say he's a kid, like us,_ " Chara said sarcastically. _“Let's say he's 13, just like us—well, like_ you _—guess what, Frisky? He's still a sick bastard. We have to turn him to dust, I keep telling you—Now that he's got a taste of killing you when you haven't even killed a fly it can't be_ that _long before he decides he wants to do it again,_ trust _me. And_ this _time I bet you that—that thing he did before we died that time—“_

You wanted nothing more than to ignore Chara, but they kept going. “ _—I don’t think he’ll stop so quickly next time._ ”

 

Both you and Chara felt extremely uncomfortable with your own sick imagination.

 

 _You_ felt extremely uncomfortable. Wasn't Chara just another part of you?

 

You must have looked as bad as you felt because suddenly Grillby came by with a free chocolate chip cookie for you. You felt your cheeks go red. "For me!? T-Thanks, Grillby!"

 

"He _is_ taking a while, isn't he?" Grillby said in that weird flame voice of his. And he was probably referring to Sans. "I'll talk to him."

 

" _N-No!_ " your face heated up even more and you were sure that you were now bright red all over. " _No_ , I came here early! Don't tell him!"

 

One raised eyebrow from Grillby and suddenly you felt like your entire being was being put under a microscope. You didn't like whatever it was that Grillby found.

 

Would your crush on Sans be noticeable or would the fact that you had been sitting here talking like a freak to a voice inside your head be even _more_ glaringly obvious?

 

It felt like you spent an eternity under Grillby's scrutinizing gaze. And you almost broke right then and there and begged the fire monster not to tell Sans about your crush, begged him not to tell Sans about the bad voice, begged him not to tell Sans that at night, you dreamed that he—

 

That he—

 

Suddenly you didn't want the milkshake. Shame and dread both ran hot in your chest along with a sick nausea. And you—You wanted to _die_ —

 

You were about to start crying in front of everybody when Grillby mercifully stopped looking at you. He silently went back to cleaning, although he never moved from where he stood in front of you.

 

After a while, Grillby looked up behind you and said "Oh. Here he is."

 

Your heart skipped a beat before leaping in your chest. You sat up straight, looked behind you and—

 

 _“Sans!_ ” You beamed and waved. Maybe a little bit too excitedly. But you loved him, _you loved him_ and—

 

And Chara’s voice whispered inside your head, " _Isn't it awful, how he almost never stops grinning like that? For some reason I think that smile is always fake unless he's killing us._ "

 

A flash of cold dread. You froze with fear. And what—

 

What was _wrong_ with you?

 

Luckily for you Sans sat down next to you and didn't notice how loudly your heart began beating in your chest. Your hands felt numb. There was a loud ringing in your ears.

 

You felt so—so anxious—so suddenly afraid—

 

And then Sans looked at you and he winked. His smile looked honest. He looked legitimately happy to see you.

 

"man, what a day. pap made me recalibrate all my puzzles. i got a skele- _ton_ of work done," he said cheerfully. "have you ordered yet, kiddo?"

 

You shook your head and fought the faint shade of pink that tinged your cheeks whenever Sans looked at you the way he was looking at you now.

 

Like you two were the _best_ of friends.

 

Or maybe—you had always wanted this to be the case—maybe soul mates.

 

"so what will it be, kid? burgers or fries?" he asked you, and his voice was so light and casual that for a moment you forgot all about Chara.

 

You smiled _so wide_ at him. And it was obvious to you that Sans was harmless, the _problem_ was _you_.

 

You decided to go with his usual choice. “Fries, please.”

 

And you were determined, so determined, to have a nice time with Sans and forget Chara.


	13. SOS Papyrus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bam.
> 
> Here you go, Hannah (who wrote a comment about this on Creep).
> 
> I'd originally wanted to write something along the lines of this early on in Creep, but decided against it. YAY for Like a Feather (or maybe oh noooo).

You hated your life so much.

 

You wanted to die. And perhaps you were dying.

 

This had been, by far, the worst week of your life. You’d fought with Sans. You’d been forbidden for going on a hike to Hotland with Monsterkid—you were still kind of mad at Sans over that—,you’d found out your nightmares were real, you were a freaking murderer, and—

 

And—

 

And you’d woken up with blood all over the sheets.

 

All over _Sans’ sheets_. Thank God he had left before you’d woken up.

 

And oh my God, had he seen!?

 

You weren’t entirely sure ( _you could be dying_ , you _hoped_ you were _dying_ ), but you had a suspicion that you had just gotten your first ever period.

 

All. Over. Your crush’s. Bedsheets.

 

You _really really hoped_ that you were just dying.

 

You made a frantic phone call to your mom and started crying over the phone. You _really, really hated_ this. You’d ruined Sans’ bed. You were _having your first period_ , and your human mom was Aboveground, your goat mom was locked up in some Ruins, and all you had was Sans—

 

All you had was the guy you were crushing on, who’d killed you more than once because _you’d killed his brother_.

 

And Sans was—he was your best friend—but he was still just… a guy… And you were crying over the phone and you were hysterical. Mom suggested that you wash the sheets with cold water and soap. She soothed you and told you to ask Sans to go to the Inn and get you some pain medication and some—

 

_Ugh_ , some pads…

 

You were _definitely_ not going to ask Sans to _go buy you some pads_. You wouldn’t have even asked your real dad, and Sans was—

 

No. Just no. Just never.

 

You were going to just stay locked in Sans’ bathroom until whatever many days it took for this to be over passed and then you were hoping to forget this ever happened and you were hoping Sans would _never find out_ that you’d just started _your first ever period_ , _in his house_ , _on his bed_ and _on his bedsheets_.

 

And there was still the slight hope that you could potentially just be dying.

 

There were loud noises coming from somewhere on the other side of the door and then a loud knock.

 

Knock, knock, knock…

 

“HUMAN?”

 

And _holy crap oh no Papyrus was home_.

 

“Everything is fine!” you yelled through the door. You hated the way your voice broke, and a few tears escaped you. Your abdomen hurt _like hell_. The blood had finally come off the sheets but now you had a bundle of soaked sheets and no way to explain them. And all you wanted was to be left alone for ever, or maybe for Sans to coddle you, or maybe to have a mom, or maybe…

 

Or maybe just anyone to help because you were just so completely alone and this wasn’t fair and you didn’t know what you were doing and other girls—other girls probably had _someone_ —

 

And what was _so wrong_ with you that nobody ever wanted to stick around with _you_?

 

“You’re kinda needy, for one,” Chara’s voice whispered in your head.

 

And _THANK YOU SO FREAKING MUCH, Chara_. That was _exactly_ what you were looking for: some healthy criticism from _the freaking voice inside your head_.

 

You wanted whatever god was out there to _just let you die already. Just die. Just die._

 

“HUMAN? I CAME HOME TO MAKE YOU LUNCH. BUT YOU HAVEN’T LEFT THE BATHROOM. ARE YOU OKAY? YOU DON’T SOUND VERY OKAY.”

 

“I said I’m _fine_ , Papyrus!” you yelled.

 

And then silence. You felt so bad. You opened the door a little bit.

 

And you were probably looking like some sort of _crazy mess_ who probably still had bedhead and face that was still wet from _your own stupid tears_. And Papyrus wasn’t a very observant monster, but _he noticed_.

 

Oh, _he sure noticed_.

 

And you didn’t know how it happened but suddenly you were being carried and were dropped off on his race car bed and he was looking very concerned as he examined you and he told you “WHAT IS WRONG, HUMAN? EXPLAIN.”

 

And your words just came stumbling out. “I’m on my period…”

 

“YOUR WHAT?”

 

“My _period!”_

 

“WHAT IS A PERIOD? IS THIS ONE OF SAN’S JOKES?”

 

“NO!” you cried. And then “I’m BLEEDING, PAPYRUS!”

 

And that certainly got him freaked out. He looked at you with eyes wide as saucers. “YOU’RE BLEEDING!? OH NO!!!! THIS IS NOT GOOD! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL HEAL YOU! WHERE IS THE WOUND?”

 

You wondered if it would have been less awful if you’d just waited for Sans.

 

Sans, whom you were desperately hoping saw you as more than just a kid… Sans, whom you’d _definitely_ fantasized about kissing more often that not. Sans, whose very last words to you last night were “wake me up if you have any more nightmares, kiddo,”— _ugh!_ And if he saw you crying right now like some _little kid_ , instead of taking your newfound lady days with the grace of _a mature adult_ —

 

…No. No. This was _definitely_ better with Papyrus.

 

Still, this was _incredibly awkward_.

 

“It’s _not a wound_. Could you, um… Mom called them my _lady days_ …” you mumbled shyly.

 

Papyrus was decidedly _less shy_.  “YOUR LADY DAYS???”

 

You were sure you were dying, now. Dying of _embarrassment_.

 

“Papyrus, if… If I gave you my wallet, could you… Um… Mom says I need…

 

“………”

 

You couldn’t _say_ it.

 

Somehow, Paps _understood_.

 

“HUMAN, YOU’VE GOTTEN SO QUIET,” he said with concern. “LUCKILY FOR YOU, I’VE SEEN WHAT SANS DOES WHEN THIS HAPPENS TO YOU. DO YOU REQUIRE A PEN AND PAPER?”

 

You _very quickly_ and gratefully nodded.

 

Papyrus disappeared. He probably went to Sans’ room. Sans had long ago gotten you a notepad for when you couldn’t talk with your mouth, and—

 

And you hadn’t had to use it in a very long time and you were so grateful that Papyrus remembered not only where the notepad existed but also where it was still kept.

 

Papyrus came back, victorious with the notepad. You very quickly wrote down your shopping list before you lost your nerve.

 

And you really urgently needed those awfully embarrassing pads. You were on your third pair of underwear, now…

 

Papyrus seemed to catch on to your urgency when he saw the way you used so many exclamation points.

 

“I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL QUICKLY COMPLETE THIS VERY IMPORTANT ERRAND!!!” he promised.

 

And then he _literally ran_.

 

Oh my god. _Thank god_ for Papyrus.

 

Your awful and _super embarrassing_ period emergency was over before Sans came back from work.

 

You literally _swore Pap to secrecy_.

 

You slept at the Inn that night. And the next one. Until it was safe.

 

And you _really missed_ sleeping next to Sans but he always called you and you talked on the phone until one of you fell asleep, so that was nice.

 

It was the next best thing to sleeping in Sans’ bed and

 

At least now you knew you had two somebodies who took care of you.


	14. You do not want to wear a coat

“It isn’t _that_ cold out,” you argued.  
  
Sans looked pretty angry with you by now but then again you were angry with him, too. The skeleton had been arguing with you for the past twenty minutes or so about your outfit, threatening to ‘not let you go out’—whatever _that_ meant, he wasn’t your dad—unless you agreed to wear a coat over your sweater.  
  
“look, there’s a blizzard coming,” Sans said, pinching the top of his nasal cavity in frustration. “just put on the coat your mom sent you here with. it’ll take you like a second.”  
  
“I _don’t_ _want_ to wear a coat,” you told Sans. You happened to _like_ the way you looked when you only wore the sweater your human mom had given you. So what if you were sometimes chilly, it was worth it. You were going to see Monsterkid today and you wanted to look cool, not like a dork wearing a coat when none of the other kids your age wore one—  
  
You were still _super embarrassed_ that you’d had to last-minute cancel your plans to camp out at the forest while MK’s parents were gone yesterday, because _Sans hadn’t let you go_ on the super old-fashioned grounds that you were “ _not camping out overnight with some boy, kid_ ”. You were really not in the mood to give MK more of a reason to think you were some _little kid_.  
  
Monsterkid was a full year older than you and he often liked to point it out. It was embarrassing enough when, while MK’s curfew was at midnight, Sans was always texting you ten minutes before nine with not-so-friendly reminders that , if you weren’t in his house or at the Inn by 9 PM, he was coming to pick you up. You didn’t want to make things even more humiliating for you by _showing up in a lame outfit picked out by your_ —  
  
—by _Sans_. By your best friend Sans.  
  
“ _Jesus, what is_ wrong _with you_ ,” whispered Chara inside your head. And probably a great deal of many things were wrong with you if the voice inside your head was the one questioning your sanity.  
  
“i can’t let you go out like that,” Sans told you with more than a hint of exasperation. He looked frustrated and tired of arguing with you, but you weren’t about to budge. “you’re going to catch a cold. just—just wear your coat…  
  
“—heck, wear _mine_ ,” he said suddenly as if a light bulb had lit up in his head, and then he—  
  
He actually _took off his own coat_ —  
  
 You hated the way you couldn’t stop yourself from madly blushing as he _put his coat over you_ and—and—you were quietly _squealing_ —his coat smelled like him—  
  
And _oh no oh no_ you weren’t about to refuse wearing his coat ( _his coat!!!_ ) did he know why did he offer it _did Sans know how much you liked him?_  
  
“ _Pretty sure he knows, just from the way you’re always following him around_ ,” Chara told you, offering their _completely unwanted opinion_ , _gee thanks evil voice_.  
  
His coat was warm and it was _his_ and it smelled like _him_ and it was over you.  
  
You pulled it closer around you before you even knew what you were doing. You didn’t realize that you were doing it in front of Sans until you caught him staring at you.  
  
You blushed furiously. And Sans looked—  
  
He looked a little sad, for some reason, but maybe that was the way skeletons looked when they felt relief.  
  
“ _there_ ,” Sans said, his voice softening significantly once he realized that you weren’t going to be taking his coat off. He didn’t look angry anymore and to be honest, neither were you.  “be careful out there, ok? they say it might snow a lot. if you get stranded anywhere, i’ll come get you. but don’t wander far.”  
  
“Sans, I’m just going out to see the snow fall on the lake,” you told him with a small smile and a roll of your eyes but Sans snorted.  
  
“that’s what you said the last time you went out with _that kid_ and yet i ended up having to fish you out from the middle of the forest when it got too dark.”  
  
Your face heated even more with a sudden embarrassment. “You didn’t _have_ to do that. We were finding our way out.”  
  
“again, _so sorry_ that i embarrassed you in front of your little boyfriend,” Sans said sarcastically. There was a hint of something in his voice that you hadn’t heard before. It sounded completely unlike him. Was he mad at you or…?  
  
“He’s _not my boyfriend_ ,” you argued, face red, and you wished—  
  
You wished you could just _tell Sans how you felt about him_ already. He definitely had no clue. And how could you be boyfriend and girlfriend with Monsterkid _when it was Sans_ who—  
  
Who you liked. Who made your heart flutter and your knees weak. Who you constantly thought about. Who—  
  
Who would probably think it was just a stupid and embarrassing kiddie crush. But it was _so much more_ than that; you were _sure you loved Sans_ ; you would do anything for him and you—  
  
And you’d confess your feelings for him eventually but you were still gathering up your courage. You often found yourself holding back because you had _so much to lose_ —Sans was your best and greatest friend—and he so often treated you like you were a little kid and—  
  
And he reached his hand toward you and brushed some of your messy hair off of your face.  
  
For a split second, your heart stopped beating.  
  
You _had_ to tell him you loved him. You _had_ to.  
  
“the weather down here isn’t mild, kiddo. please don’t be out long,” he told you. And it sounded more like he was asking you for a favor and not at all like he was making a demand.  
  
Suddenly you felt like you didn’t want to go at all.  
  
“I—I’ll be back soon,” you promised, and that earned you a wink out of him as he zipped up his coat around you.  
  
And—And maybe now would be the right moment to add an ‘I love you’?  
  
“you warm enough, kiddo?”  
  
You were more than warm. Your heart felt like it was going to pound itself out of your chest.  
  
And you wanted to tell him—  
  
“Y-yeah. Thanks, Sans.”  
  
—but once again you couldn’t today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing this, I it just fully hit me how Chara has been inside of Frisk's head aaaall the times she and Sans have "done a romance". 
> 
> It must be so disturbing to be Frisk. And perhaps even worse to be Chara.
> 
> I feel so bad for poor Chara, who has probably been trying to scream some sense into Frisk the entire tiiiime.


	15. Howdy!

You tried to take deep, steadying breaths, and tried to not let the fact that you were being crushed by blue magic overwhelm you.

 

You couldn’t breathe. Your attempt at calm breathing came out shallow. The magic _hurt_ , it _hurt_ —you were being pressed against the mattress and your lungs were compressed and you _couldn’t_ _breathe_ , _you couldn’t breathe_ …

 

Sounds of Papyrus yelling from the kitchen.

 

And suddenly you were keenly aware that you were going to die. You felt cold fear overwhelm you as you realized that Sans was going to kill you when he came back.

 

He was acting as if you’d hurt Papyrus. _Had_ you?

 

“ _I haven’t done anything_ ,” the bad voice inside your head spoke, sounding more than a little defensive. You almost felt them shrugging inside your head. Their words weren’t exactly comforting.

 

The magic weighed you down and held you in place in a way that wasn’t anything but threatening. Sans was _mad_ …

 

You bit back a pained sob. You had to be brave, no matter what. Maybe Sans would kill you, but you should…

 

You had to stay determined. But _would it hurt_? Would he _make_ it hurt?  You were _terrified_ , you started mentally pleading against the magic, just please _please_ let me go _let me go Sans sorry I’m sorry please_ —

 

“Howdy, Frisk!”

  
Yo u r p a n i c   i n c r e a s e d .

 

You looked up as best as you could and almost screamed. Flowey was in the room, looking at you. The flower looked deceptively cheerful, a smug grin on their face and they laughed.

 

You frantically tried to break free from Sans’ magic. You weren’t in a position to dodge any ‘friendliness pellets’, and those _stung_.

 

“Lookie what we have here! By golly, Frisk. You must be uncomfortable,” Flowey said, pointing with a leaf at how your body was firmly held down against Sans’ bed. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from that smiley freak? Ha ha! Frisk! You are _so stupid_!”—Flowey laughed—“I can’t believe you let yourself get caught again by the _garbage brother_. Don’t you remember what I said? _Smiley trash bag is going to kill you_. _Don’t_ let him find anything more about you. Unless… heh… you want to have a _bad time_.”

 

You felt dirty and humiliated as a warm flush made its way to your cheeks. Tears pooled behind your eyes and threatened to start falling, but you weren’t about to start crying in front of Flowey…

 

You were ashamed of how fast your heart was beating because you weren’t afraid only of Flowey but also _of Sans_.

 

_Your_ Sans. Your best friend. No, you _shouldn’t_ —

 

“No he won’t,” you challenged, determined, even as you weren’t sure if you were telling Flowey or yourself. “He _won’t_ , and he _isn’t_ _garbage_. I—I trust him.” You _willed_ yourself to trust him. You were absolutely _determined_ to.

 

You loved him.

 

Flowey laughed at you. “You  _trust_  him? Are you  _that_ much of an idiot? You  _can’t_  tell me you’ve really forgotten everything he’s  _done_  to you.”

 

You wanted to cry but you _wouldn’t_. _The nightmares_. Sans’ spoken admission that at least some of them were real. The feeling of _bones piercing your body_ and of _burning_ and of _torture_ and of _suffocation_ and—

 

“Or are you really still trying to  _convince_  yourself you don’t know  _what an asshole_  he really is?”

 

You _wanted to cry,_ he _isn’t_ bad _he isn’t bad_ Sans joking around with you Sans taking care of you Sans being _nice_ , _so nice_ and _so good to you_ and he _always_ cared and he _always_ watched out for you and _the feeling of butterflies_ when he looked at you and _your heart bursting with joy_ when he hugged you and _the warm tingling in your chest_ when he touched you, when he kissed the top of your head, when _he worried about you_ —

 

You were _so in love with him_ and—

 

“Word of advice, kid.  _Don’t_ trust the  _garbage brother_. If he finds out what you can do, he’s going to  _kill you over and over_ until you stop coming back. I can’t believe this is a REAL thing I have to remind you. He has already  _murdered_  you  _so many times_.”

 

When you found your voice, it was strained. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weren’t lying, were you? “Please, Flowey— Just go away—”

 

And you really, _really_ didn’t want to hear the mean things that Flowey was saying about Sans and you didn’t want to hear _how much Flowey’s version  of your Sans matched your nightmares_ and you _didn’t want_ to be afraid of Sans, you _didn’t want_ to think badly of Sans, you _didn’t want_ —

 

You _sobbed_. Having to listen to _this_ about _him_ was _torture_.

 

A worried-looking Sans suddenly burst through the door and rescued you.


	16. An Interlude (SPOILERS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. This one is heavy. HUGE SPOILER ALERT for this one because it's written from Frisk's point of view when she is older (post-barrier).
> 
> If I did this right, because I don't take this subject lightly in any way, this has a HUGE TRIGGER WARNING. This is part of Chapter 6 from an older-but-not-much-older Frisk's POV. The part of Chapter 6 where he is touching her. And it touches a bit on what I'm aiming for their relationship to be like in the future because I'm already writing a horrible sequel for the awfulness that is Creep, because I hate myself and like feeling awful apparently? So yeah. Spoilers for Unnamed Sequel but not for the Creep ending since I don't yet know how it will end. And a BIG, BIG TRIGGER WARNING because writing this was awful and it left me feeling bad and yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm really, really hoping this was written okay because I'm, uh, not writing about this from personal experience. If there is something that I severely messed up, PLEASE TELL ME because I only wanted to write an awful Sans/Frisk story but I don't take this subject lightly and so if I'm doing this in a bad or disrespectful way please PLEASE tell me because that is not my intent and I will fix it. This version of Sans/Frisk is, due to their nature, not meant to be fluffy and I do not condone it IRL.
> 
> Gah.

You would eventually have to learn that some people can't be Saved. 

 

That sometimes, showing Mercy doesn’t have to mean self-sacrifice. That, in order to Save others, you would sometimes have to first Save yourself. That love didn't necessarily mean unconditional forgiveness. That loving someone didn't have to mean pain, and misery, and sacrifice—

 

That love wasn't always as painful as loving Sans would teach you to think.

 

You would learn, and you would grow. You would move on, with pain and agony embedded deep in your soul, but you'd still move on.

 

_Wouldn’t_ you?

 

There were many harsh lessons that you had yet to learn. But for now, with Sans’ warm body pressed firmly against yours, his blue magic sending waves of something that you would eventually recognize as _equal parts shame and fear and pleasure_ —for _now_ , you thought that love was—

 

You _didn't even know_ what love was. You would come to realize, much later, how naive you had really been. How entirely aware Sans had been to the wrongness of his touch. How he had purposefully stimulated with you and aroused you in order to—

 

You’d thought he was just _trying to be nice_ but in reality he had been taking advantage of your innocence and _he had known it_ —

 

He had known how _sick_ , and _wrong_ , and _bad_ this was…

 

And he'd come to force himself on you. Again and again. He had been just testing the waters, right now, seeing if he _could_ , watching how you'd react, exploring how his touch could make you feel if you’d just _let it_. And you'd been dumb, you had been _so stupid_ , you'd let him.

 

You'd let him and you'd even enjoyed it even if it shamed you and confused you how _desperately_ you wanted him to get even closer to you and how his magic made you feel like your entire being was on fire.

 

_So dumb_ and _so young_ and _so naive_ and _trusting_ and _innocent_ and if you had a _shred_ of decency, or self-respect, or even _an ounce_ of self-worth, you'd hate him. You'd hate Sans for what he was doing and hate him for what he would do and hate him, _hate him_ for ruining you like _this_ , hate him for the panic attacks and the constant nightmares and the flashbacks and your inability to get close to anyone again and for your anxiety, for your depression, for your disorder and your attempts of suicide and—

You would hate him, if you had an ounce of love for yourself in you. You _should_ hate him. You… You _couldn’t_.

 

You couldn't hate him. How could you? Not even now could you hate him. And maybe you were just still afraid or maybe you were just stupid or maybe, just _maybe_ , you weren't even now as old and mature as you thought you were now at seventeen, maybe there was still some room for you to learn about the harsh realities of the world but—

 

But _Sans had been lonely, too_. Hadn't he been? You weren't justifying it. But he had been alone like you, and he had _seen_ something in you that— That even now you still failed to see.

 

Not even now could you look at yourself in the mirror and see what it was about you that he had found _so interesting_ , _so appealing_ , _so worthy_ of risking both of your happiness and worth _sacrificing your small chance at a happy life_ over because the fact of the matter was

 

You _weren't_ interesting, or appealing, or worthy, or pretty, or any of the things he had said, and every time someone approached you _now_ and claimed to see some of those good things in you _alarm bells would ring_ and _you'd run, run_...

 

And you were _so alone_ in this big world of humans and monsters still getting to know how to coexist with one another and you were _so alone_ amidst the multiple timelines and the Resets that happened if you weren't careful or felt particularly weak but it was _still better to be alone_ than

 

_His touch on your skin_

_His tongue in your mouth_

_His magic inside you sometimes shamefully pleasant and sometimes rough and scary and—_

 

It was _better_ to be alone, _it was better to be alone_. You didn't know it back then but it was _better to be alone_ and _better to be lonely_ and _better to_...

 

You can still vividly remember _how widely_ he had grinned at you, _triumphant and victorious_ , both of you illuminated by the glow of his blue magic as he left a trail of it down your sides and just under your shirt. You had loved him _so much_ , back then, had been _foolish_ and _stupid_ , and when he started massaging his magic—strangely light and tingly against your skin in a way that felt _so good_ and ignited every single one of your nerve endings—when he started massaging his magic against your bare skin _you had wanted_ —

 

_You had wanted him_ , even if back then you hadn't known it. You had wanted him closer and wanted him to touch you and wanted him to extinguish whatever fire it was he was building inside you because _you loved him_ ( _you had loved him so much_ ), and had he known even then what he was doing to you ( _of course he had_ ), you had wondered if perhaps the fact that he was touching you meant that he liked you ( _in his way, he had_ ), and

 

And it had felt almost like a sort of broken innocence, to let him touch you like this. It had left you feeling the bitter aftertaste of his adulthood, how much more mature and knowledgeable than you he was. It had felt like a shared moment that was _meant to stay secret_ and

 

You would grow to share many of _those_.

 

Secret moments. Secret touches. Secret _love_ and _secret sex_ and— You had been _so stupid_ —

 

( _You are so, so stupid, Frisk._ )

 

But still, even if you probably didn't fully remember everything that had happened in this particular moment, even if your memories were sometimes horridly vivid or _even worse_ , _glaringly absent_ , still you always vividly remembered the way that Sans had looked at you as he touched the bare skin under your shirt.

 

He’d looked at you with a burning gaze and an alluring, enticing smile and had told you in a voice that sent a wave of something _visceral_ and _needy_ and _wanting_ down the core of your entire being. And he had asked you—you’d never forget that _he had asked you_ —

 

"do you want me to keep going?"

 

_"do you want me to keep going?"_

 

_do you want me to... do you want me to..._

 

You would grow to replay those exact words _over and over_ in your head. And oftentimes, you would force yourself to ask your memories: Had you?

 

Had you?

 

_do you want me to keep going_? He had _asked_ you and had you wanted him all along? _do you want me to keep going?_ Could it all have been just a big misunderstanding? _do you want me to keep going?_ Could it be that you were blowing this entire thing out of proportion, that he had in reality never thought he was doing anything that you hadn’t wanted him to—that you hadn’t _asked_ him to—that it was in fact _you_ who was the jerk, the ungrateful teenager who had run away when he had only been showing you the entirety of his love for you, that you had wanted him _all of this time_ because you _had_ sometimes wanted him, and now—

 

Now he was suffering because of you, he was alone because of you. He was alone and he was _miserable_ because you’d left him even when you had _promised_ you wouldn't—

 

Now you were scum. Were nothing but a spoiled brat full of ingratitude, because he'd loved you _so, so much_ , had loved you _more than anyone else had_ , and you had taken that love and you had taken _your_ love for him, and you had tied it into a knot and—

 

And had only gotten as far as to _attempt_ to discard it, because your love for him still beat so strongly in your chest that you _hated yourself_ at night and you cried—

 

You cried _so often_.

 

Because sometimes, in the lonely quiet, when it was just you and your thoughts and the shadows of your nightmares at three in the morning, you could almost admit to yourself that you missed him.

 

Could _shamefully admit_ that you still loved him.

 

And you felt sickened with yourself, and felt _wrong_ , and _guilty_ , because hadn't he forced you to give him that love you felt for him in a way you hadn't been ready or willing to give?

 

Hadn’t he?

_Hadn't_ he?

 

( _do you want me to keep going?_ )

 

You let out a pained sob and then another but you moved on, forcing yourself to look through the memories of things that you sometimes weren’t entirely sure you hadn’t wanted, trying to find a hint of proof that could justify what he had done all those times so you could call him—

 

Your phone was like lead in your hand, heavy and substantial in a way you didn’t want. You had woken up again that night, shaking and crying from nightmares of _him_. Sometimes you'd give in on nights like these, like you were tempted to do tonight, and you'd call him even though his voice rarely made you feel better anymore. He almost never made you feel better anymore but still hearing his voice made you feel loved in a way you felt starved for. And to know he still cared, no matter how far you’d run, to know he _still loved you_ and _wanted you_ made you—

 

You had an entire country between you nowadays and he rarely gave in and came looking for you in person. But the fact that he _still answered your calls_ even if you'd run away from him almost two years ago meant—

 

It meant _something_ , in your twisted mind. It meant _something_.

 

Your phone was a different one than the one that you'd had when you were thirteen but it still triggered a memory.

 

Monsterkid had called you in the middle of your time with Sans. Sans had told you not to answer and you hadn't. And then Sans had looked _triumphant_ , he had looked—

 

He had _sounded_ —

 

There was a certain animalistic hunger in him as he'd praised you and “rewarded" you and he'd kissed your neck for the very first time that day, even now your body remembered _how good_ that had felt, and he'd pulled you close—

 

And you'd felt like you were both _on fire_ and you had very much wanted _something_ from him that back then you couldn't name, but now that you were older you could, and you were _so ashamed_ —

 

He made you feel like _that_ so many times—

 

He had asked you _one more time_ if you wanted him to continue, and there was something _hungry_ and _needy_ behind that question now, something _exciting_ but _scary_ , and it made you stop and think twice because it felt like he wasn't just asking you if you wanted him to keep making you feel _so, so good_ with his hands and his magic but rather—

 

He had moved his hand to your navel and the act had sent a wave of tantalizing magic through you but somehow that didn't feel right anymore. You’d felt embarrassed to find that instead you wanted his hand to _go lower_.

 

Then he had bit your earlobe and— _ah_ —that had _felt good_ —no one had ever done that to you before and... It had felt _very good_. It had felt like he loved you and wanted you and...

 

And then he’d asked _one more time_ if you wanted him to continue—" _do you?_ "—and his voice was _hungry_ and _low_ and _husky_ and it had sent waves of longing through your core. But the fact that he had asked—had asked _thrice_ — It painted all of your future memories with a thick tinge of _self-doubt_ because _he had asked you_ , he had _definitely_ asked you—

 

And you'd wanted it then. You’d wanted him. Even though you didn't get to tell him.

 

The phone had rang again and it had interrupted whatever it was your flustered mind had been about to say but _you were sure that you had wanted him_.

 

Had you _always_ wanted it? Had he always asked you but you had just... forgot?

 

It had— Your times with Sans hadn't always felt good. Sometimes they had been scary and painful and full of the lingering threat of death, of pain, of hopelessness because that had been the way that _he_ _had_ _most enjoyed it_. But sometimes... oftentimes... He'd made you...

 

You'd climaxed with him still, hadn't you. He almost always made sure to get at least one orgasm out of you. Maybe you had wanted it?

 

Why _else_ wouldn't you have left him _sooner?_

 

You turned on your phone. You had erased Sans from your contacts in a half-hearted attempt to stop yourself from calling him, but you had his number memorized. And you hesitated for a split moment.

 

You were _so lonely_. So was he. And you hated yourself and felt _disgusting_ , when you called him in the middle of the night like this. You felt worthless and pathetic and—

 

And _he loved you_ , in his way. Despite your flaws. Despite your sickness. And he hadn't even come looking for you in months, he’d grown respectful. And the last time he gave in and came looking for you because in the end _he always knew where you were_ , the last time he did and he’d initiated sex where he had been rough and needy he—he had been gentler, in the end, when you started crying, and you'd just—

 

It was _just sex_ , you told yourself. You both loved each other but when he was rough _it was just sex_. He would get off and he would get _you_ off because _he liked it that way_ , that was the whole point, and he was stronger than you and he didn’t _have_ to be considerate, but he _had_ been…

 

He often was.

 

And maybe there was still some good in what you’d had together.

 

You wiped your tears as you dialed and the phone rang. It was three A.M.

 

But he still picked up.

 

And his sleepy voice sounded _as happy to hear from you_ as he always did when he picked up, he always sounded _happy_ and _welcoming_ and _in love with you_ and—

 

" _frisky_ ," he greeted you, and you could almost hear the melancholy smile in his voice as he spoke your name in a voice full of love and of reverence. It made you feel worthless. Why were you doing this to him. Why leave him, why call him? Why do this to _him_ when he was _so in love with you still_ and—

 

It broke your heart.

 

It _hurt_ that you were doing this to him. It _hurt_ and you deserved whatever he did to you when you toyed with him enough like this and he could no longer take your inconsistency. It _hurt_ and you deserved all the bruises you got when he gave in and he fucked you, you deserved all the pain and the self-disgust and the short, _terrifying_ glimpses of his growing resentment and desperation and _love_ that could sometimes border on _hate_ —

 

He could hurt _you so, so badly_ but it was only because _you kept doing this shit to him_. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone.

 

And it took you a while to realize that you were crying on the phone. It took you a while to notice it, but why else would he be trying to comfort you?

 

" _sweetie_ , don't cry,” he told you, anguish and desperation in his voice. You’d grown to recognize that tone of voice, and knew that he was stopping himself from showing up and hugging you. “ _please_ don’t cry, frisky. i love you. _i love you_. i'm sorry. what can i _do_? tell me what to do, kiddo. _i love you_."

 

_He loved you._

 

You stifled a sob and you forced yourself to speak. And the very first thing you told him, voice unintentionally harsh and making you instantly hate yourself, was "Don't come here."

 

_and you hated how defensive you sounded and how quiet he went when you said that_

 

A pause. You hiccuped. And _you hated yourself_ but you loved him and _you were so alone_ , and you were hurting, and it was _just sex_ wasn't it, it was no big deal—you'd done this before and—

 

_Shame, shame, shame_ and _desperation_ and _loneliness_ and _you were_ _sick_ _and worthless_ something was _wrong with you_ , "Don't come here, but— But if you _did_ — What would you do to me?"

 

A sharp intake of breath barely audible from the other line. He knew what you had meant. You knew what you were doing. And you _hated_ this moment. This was when he either rejected you ‘for your own good’ in a way that _stung_ and tried instead to talk you through your misery, or it was when he gave in and was _weak like you_ and showed you how completely _disgusting_ and _selfish_ he was—

 

How _completely sick_ you both were—

 

But it was just sex or in this case phone sex and—

 

When he finally spoke, his voice was but a low growl. He sounded as alluring and husky as you remembered he could sound and it made you feel something deep within you that you were too ashamed to name. He sounded _so sure_ of himself. So _commanding_. _So scary_ and _sexy_ and _dominant_ and— "i'd fuck you 'til you bled.

 

“do you want me to tell you _how_?"

 

_do you want me to?_

_do you want me to?_

_do you?_

_do you?_

_do you?_

 

And sometimes you hated yourself enough that you tricked yourself into thinking that you had always given consent.

 

That you were as disgusting as him, if not _more_. That you were both sick, because you loved him. _You loved him_. And maybe this was _all that you two could have_ but it was _something_ and he still meant _something_ to you and—

 

You started crying again but you said nothing. It was not exactly an admission that you wanted this, that you wanted him to scare you and terrify you and get you off by telling you just what he wanted to do to you, just what it was that he was probably _always close to doing to you_ because _he could_ —

 

He _always_ could—

 

He knew where you lived, what you did, where you were, where and when you went, you were _powerless_.

 

_So powerless_ and _stupid_ and _still_ _holding on to this_ _pathetic crush_ that had turned into _your first and only love_ and—

 

“frisk? should i stop?”

 

_Should he stop how many times had he asked you that you couldn’t remember should you just go back?_

The cries started to turn into a panic attack and you almost wanted to hang up but _it was like he was your life line_ and—

 

You heard his lonely admission. “i want to fuck you _so bad_.”

 

And he sounded _so guilty_ , _so miserable_ —

 

_So_ _lonely_ like _you_ and conflicted and depressed and—

 

“I miss you,” you admitted, your own voice thick with shame because it was stupid, but—

 

“frisky,” he sounded _almost_ hopeful. It broke your heart. “ _frisky, i love you_ —i miss you _so, so much_. if i could—”

  
  
And then he proceeded to tell you just what exactly he would do to you ‘if he could’. (He _could_. He _always could._ Had made that _quite clear_ to you _more than once_ , and you were playing with fire.)

 

You irrationally thought in the middle of it that it was time for you to move again. Maybe there was something under the table that you could do in a smaller town.

 

And maybe right now you were sure that you never wanted to move anywhere near Sans again, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love him.

 

You _did_ love him. Even as you felt _guilt_ and _shame_ and _disgust at yourself_ for loving him.

 

And maybe this was all you both could have.


	17. Tick, Tock

_ Tick _ . Early morning. The day before.

You and Sans had just had a fight. He called you a child, among other things, and got very upset. You were pretty mad at him, too. You were especially angry that he called you a child after he'd—

_ Touched _ you. Like he had been touching you. With his magic on your skin and his hands touching your body in a way that had made you feel like—

He had made you feel things you had never felt before. Things you still felt, if you weren't careful. But your giddy excitement had no reason to be anymore, now that the moment was over. And you mentally berated yourself.

 

Sans had yelled at you and had called you juvenile. And somehow now you felt low, and used, and dirty. And you felt just stupidly naive because you’d been foolish enough to think that Sans had— Had meant _anything_ by touching you like that, making you feel the way you'd felt. You’d been dumb enough to think maybe he’d finally realized you weren’t a kid anymore, you’d been crushing on him since you were twelve and now you were _almost fourteen_ and—

And then the moment had ended. He’d angrily made it clear to you that you were just a kid to him. And maybe he had touched you like that to just pass the time, maybe. And you had let him.

You had _so_ _stupidly_ let him. He'd been the first to ever touch you like that. Did he know that? What had he meant by that? You’d thought— You’d thought for a moment that maybe Sans liked you, had thought maybe the two of you were doing something special, something meaningful because of the way he'd—

You felt so stupid. He obviously—He _obviously_ hadn’t meant anything by it. And you wondered, now after the fact, if perhaps you were being immature by thinking what Sans had done to you had even been a big deal at all.

You beat yourself up over it. You were _such_ a child. And Sans had treated you like an adult, and you’d blown it, and you were just a silly girl with a crush on a guy who was so much more mature than you ever hoped to be.

You berated yourself some more as you pretended to eat breakfast with Papyrus. You went straight to Grillby's afterwards to meet with Monsterkid. And you were still seething, you were _so upset_ that your best friend was a not only a dumb skeleton but also a... a _jerk_ and _an asshole_ , but you—

_ Tock _ . Still yesterday morning. Breakfast with Monsterkid.

You sat at a booth and chatted with Grillby for a little bit before MK came. Talking to Grillby was always so nice. The fire monster didn’t talk much, and he never pressured you into talking to him. And he always seemed to know just the right thing to say, seemed to pick up on the fact that something was bothering you today. And so he quietly gave you a mug of hot chocolate, "On the house."

You smiled and politely thanked him before sipping the warm drink. Sans had made you hot chocolate before, but this one tasted nothing like it. It was a soothing sort of warmth that felt like magic going down your throat and into your heart and very soul, and you figured that it probably _was_ magic,  not the kind of stuff Sans had gotten for you that had fallen from the surface.

 

Grillby's food was special.

The fire monster in question just stared at you for the longest moment as you drank, seeming to study you. You didn’t mind it much anymore, when he did that; had gotten used to it, in fact. But then he told you, in his voice that somehow crackled like fire, "I’m always here to talk, if something is bothering you."

The hot chocolate you were drinking suddenly felt heavy and unbearably _thick_ in your mouth. You almost spat it back out. You forced yourself to look at Grillby and blushed.

And how could you _tell_ him?

You wanted to cry and just _tell him_ …

You wanted to get it out of your chest, how much of a _jerk_ Sans sometimes was. Confess how you hated the way the butterflies in your chest were always present and felt almost unbearable sometimes when you were with Sans. How…

How _much_ you _still missed_ your parents, the mom and the dad you’d barely ever gotten to spend time with, and how you missed your goat mom too, the nice monster who had adopted you but never came out of the ruins to see you. You wanted to tell Grillby how alone you felt. How unbearably _sad_ you often felt and how hopeless and downright  _painful_ it felt to just _live_ sometimes.  How you'd stupidly let Sans touch you because you'd thought, maybe that way, he'd think you were mature enough for him and would like you. How scared and confused you were by the way he'd made you feel that morning. And you wanted to say _so_ , _so_ _much_ —

But looking at Grillby, you just _couldn't_. You couldn't tell on Sans, no matter how much of a jerk he was. Somehow, you just knew that telling someone the things you two sometimes did together would be...

 

It would be like a betrayal, somehow. He'd never told Papyrus. And maybe half of the things you two did were meant to stay secret.

And even if it didn’t feel that way, you couldn't bring yourself to say how much every grown up that had ever been in your life would just let you down.

All of them, from your mom to your dad to Toriel and Sans and even Papyrus with his obsession with being a Royal Guard and his inability to see you as anything else than "the human". And it was more than you could take.

You shrugged and stayed silent instead. Waited patiently until Monsterkid came once Grillby was done staring at you and left. You tried to have a nice time with Monsterkid. And you even laughed, you genuinely laughed with your friend, a few times.

And then Monsterkid confessed his feelings for you and you felt _terrified_ as you rejected him, thought _for sure_ MK would leave. And you were rejecting this nice boy because you still loved _Sans_ , no matter how angry you were at him. How stupid was _that_.

Monsterkid looked heartbroken when he asked if you two could still be friends.

You let out a breath of relief. He was still willing to offer his friendship. And even though you _knew,_ from all the anime you'd seen, that this wasn't a good idea, you still selfishly took the offer.

You felt guilty, doing it. But it was better than being alone. And—

_ Tick _ . Yesterday afternoon. Fishing with Papyrus.

You were tired by now. Sans hadn't let you sleep much the night before. You hadn't minded it, at the time— Your late night talks often turned into late night cuddles and signs of affection that were somehow addictive enough you felt starved for them. But the two of you had woken up earlier than usual—

It occurred to you now that you’d never told Toriel just how late Sans would sometimes let you stay up. It was often well past midnight before he even bothered to try to remind you of your bedtime nowadays. And you knew he was still trying—you knew that he _cared_ —

He’d often kiss your forehead the morning after you both stayed up late and encouraged you to sleep in, promising a late brunch at Grillby’s when you did wake up. And he always offered to let you take a nap with him, too, when you had a lazy afternoon together. He _did_ try—

It's just he had often told you that he wasn't one for kids and—

(When had he stopped telling you that?)

Papyrus broke your silence. "I DON'T HAVE WORMS, HUMAN, BUT I HAVE SPAGHETTI!"

You almost laughed at that. Fishing with spaghetti? Of all the things you hadn't done… Paps was hilarious! Even _you_ knew, from the time Dad had agreed to bring you along when he took his kids fishing…

(A _nasty, unwanted memory_. Resurfaced feelings of shame and inadequacy. And you tried to drown out how it had felt when you were left to sit by and watch Dad and his kids having a nice time, because your mom had forgotten to get you a fishing rod and Dad and his kids only had the two.)

You paused at the rush of bad feelings. Your dad had been— He had been _such_ a good dad to his kids, so unlike anything he'd ever been to you. And maybe the problem was _you_.

 

The problem was _always, always_ _you_ and _no one could love you_ and...

You felt a frantic need to have Paps’ approval and hugged him, suddenly afraid he'd turn his back on you too. And "Can you… Can you teach me how to fish using spaghetti?"

Papyrus gasped. He was so pleased by that question that he drowned you in a sea of loud instructions and excited demonstrations. He was so loud, you didn't hear Sans come near.

You felt so nervous and excited when you saw him, but the feeling didn't last because _he ruined it_.

_ Tock _ . The end of the previous day.

Sans had ruined your time fishing with Papyrus. You'd lost your temper with him, you hadn't been able to control your foul mood. And he had ended calling you a child yet again then, had ended up treating you like you were _his kid or something_ as he rubbed it in just how _immature_ he thought you were. (" _oy,_ _kid_ , watch the attitude. you know, you've been really pushing it with me today." " _Ground_ _me_ , then.")

 

And you hadn't exactly made it easy for yourself, either. At some point, you' d even angrily claimed Sans had been _jealous—_

Sans had _laughed_ at that, as if the mere notion itself was ridiculous, and it had _stung_. Of course Sans wouldn't be jealous. You were so stupid. You were just a kid to him.

And you hated how your body didn't seem to forget how his magic and hands had felt against your skin and how just looking at him made you feel like something in you was on fire. It hurt—

 

But no matter how much you wanted him to, Sans just didn't _see_ you, and—

You left the lake as soon as Papyrus let you and ran to cry in your secret place behind the Waterfall like the stupid child you were.

_Tick_. The night before. Flowey berating you.

You were getting _real_ tired of never being alone. For someone who always felt lonely, you just couldn't catch a real break. And you had come to notice that Flowey only came to bug you when Sans wasn't around—

But here you were, discarded by Sans who'd had enough of you, wallowing in your self pity and shame and in feelings you couldn't quite give name to. And here Flowey was, just—

Just _being a jerk_. "Why haven't you left this boring town yet? Are you stupid or something? The longer you stay, the likelier that trash bag is going to find out about you— Oh, _boo hoo!_ "

He mocked you when your sobs got louder and more pathetic. And Flowey _really_ wasn't helping, the tears just wouldn't _stop_ , and you just wanted to cry until you died.

 

You wanted to be left alone and to just _cry_  until you ran out of tears and felt numb inside.

Flowey wouldn't let you. "Stop _crying_ , you baby. This isn't what you're supposed to be doing... Gosh, you're _pathetic_! Just get up and _leave_! You _need_ to get to Asgore!"

You drowned Flowey out with your hands covering your ears and cried until you just _couldn't._ And

_Tick_. The morning after. Things were better.

Sans had texted you the night before. You'd made up. And you didn't care what Chara was telling you. Going out someplace new felt like a date.

You were so excited. Chara was upset with you for forgiving Sans so instantly. But you couldn't help it, you were _so full of hope—_

You packed a picnic breakfast with just him in mind. A few cinnamon bunnies (Sans had once said the local shopkeeper made the best). A couple of syrup bottles (because Sans seemed to love condiments). Four bottles of ketchup (just in case)...

You took your heart beating loudly in your chest and your nerves that were a mess and your hope and your excitement and...

 

You were determined to show Sans you could make a good girlfriend. And maybe it wouldn't happen right away, but _one day_...

If he could only love you back, just someday...

 

Your heart was full of hope and...

_Tock_. Hotland with Sans. It was amazing.

You hadn't felt actual heat in a long time. The feeling was almost intoxicating. And you couldn't believe that you were _there with Sans_ , couldn't believe that you were lucky enough to have come here with him. And the fact that Sans took the time and effort to take you here and had done it _just for you_ made you feel—

 

_Special_. _Wanted_. Like you weren't a bother to him, and just being yourself was enough.

A few times, more than once, you caught him looking at you like he thought you were amazing.

 

It made you blush and made your knees weak and made your heart beat stronger than ever for him.

And then you finally sat down, and you had your picnic...

You asked him to open up to you and _he did_.

 

He took a chance. _Trusted you._ And he ended up... He told you things about himself.

 

Things... that...

Things that were... _very_ _bad_. And made you hurt for him.

 

You didn't know how you felt about them. Didn't know what to feel when you found out Sans had done _far worse_ than all you'd told yourself Flowey had made up.

Sans was a murderer. Had apparently been one, long before you were born. And maybe you were just thirteen, but you weren't stupid. Those kids that Sans mentioned...

Nobody had fallen down Mt Ebbott in _a very long time_.

Sans was _considerably_ more out of your league than you had fooled yourself into thinking.

And yet as Sans quietly confessed all of his sins, you couldn't help but to  _see it_. 

 

See the way he refused to look at you. How his hands sometimes shook nervously and his voice trembled ever so slightly as he spoke. And you saw _remorse_ in him, and _potential—_

 

Did he _see_ it? He could be _so much more_ than he seemed to give himself credit for.

And maybe Sans had done much worse than you'd originally thought he had. Maybe he had it in him to _hurt_ , and bring _pain,_ and do _worse_ —

 

You knew, from your nightmares, _just what it was_ that he could not only do but enjoy doing.

But he could...

 

His smile had faded as he spoke. His shoulders were slumped. And you knew from how he spoke that he didn't _want_ to be like that. You knew he could be _better_.

You knew Sans. You'd seen what he could be. And you knew that he was _so much more_ than what he was telling you he was.

And you were determined to believe in him and refused to give up.

You wondered if maybe this was what true love was, to love and forgive somebody unconditionally.

_Tock_. That evening with Papyrus.

 

Sans disappeared and didn't come back that night.

 

You tried not to think too much of it, even though you wondered where he went. And instead, you had dinner with Papyrus.

 

He'd made the world's _most_ _hilarious ravioli_. It was just overboiled pasta shells, and _gosh_ —

 

You really wished Sans was here to see it. You loved Papyrus so much, you couldn't stop laughing because of how _funny_ he sometimes was.

When you got the call from Sans, you were still laughing about the ravioli, but—something felt _off_ ("Oh no! What's up?")—and you moved to his bedroom as soon as Papyrus started to set the table.

 

Flowey was already there, looking almost as if he'd been waiting for you. And you didn't like the smile on his face.

 

You ignored Flowey; he didn't seem to like it. You ignored that too and he whispered something that sounded like "The trash bag called you?", but you drowned it out with your own question of whether Sans would be home to read Paps his bedtime story.

 

"i'll read him one _next time, heh_."

Something about the way that he said that made the blood freeze in your veins and your heart stop. And the way he laughed wasn't—

 

_Nightmares_. _Alarm bells ringing_. But this was _Sans_ , and...

 

"He isn't safe, you know," Flowey whispered. You ignored him. Ignored your heart as it beat so hard that it threatened to leave your chest, the numbness of your hands, the...

 

"Are you sure you're alright?"

 

"“yeah— _hah_ —i just miss you, is all—"

 

"He's _lying_ ," Flowey told you, his voice barely audible over the sound of Sans' muffled laughter.

"sorry," Sans said. "d’you think you can come quick? pap’s bedtime is usually in like half an hour. if you could maybe hurry after he’s asleep—i just really wanna talk to you.”

 

You stayed as calm as you could and you softly told him, "Sure. I'll be there as fast as I can."

 

And then Flowey just started _laughing_ for some reason. You covered your phone so that Sans wouldn't hear it.

Sans' voice on the phone.“thanks, kid. i’ll be waiting for you."

 

Flowey just kept laughing. "You _better_ not go, Frisk..."

And then suddenly Sans told you "i love you." 

 

You froze. You froze. He'd sounded _so sincere and affectionate_ and your heart in your throat, your feelings resurfacing in full force—

 

Sans hung up. 

 

And...

 

Flowey gave you a smug smile. You didn't know what to think anymore. And you didn't like the way Flowey seemed to give words to just what it was you were thinking.

 

"He's going to kill you."

 

It sounded like _a fact_.

 

But still...

_Tick_. Papyrus fell asleep. Your hands were shaking.

You could barely think. You took a moment to focus on Sans. You didn't know what he could possibly be going through right now.

And so you made sure you took with you anything he might need. Bandaids, just in case. A leftover cinnamon bunny, stashed in your pocket. Three bottles of ketchup. They were heavier than you thought they'd be.

You braced yourself. Gathered all of your courage. And you got ready to be whatever it was Sans needed from you.

And in the back of your mind, you just knew—

_Tock_. The clock struck eight thirty. You felt on the verge of a panic attack.

 

Suppressed it. You could wait. You were _so scared_ but you knew that _Sans needed you_ , and...

You took a deep breath. You made you peace with the fact that you might be dying tonight.

 

That maybe tonight would be yet another night you were destined to be tortured and die.

You'd still love Sans. No matter what. You loved him so much.

 

You took a moment to preemptively forgive him.

And if he needed you...

 

(You were _so sure_ , in your heart and your mind, that you'd do anything for him.)

 

You felt Determined.

And so you ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 comes next.


	18. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 from Frisk's POV. You know the one.
> 
> HUGE trigger warning. Bear in mind this might feel worse written in second person. Remember you're Frisk. Remember it's rape. Remember it's always a choice to skip this chapter.
> 
> This reads like bad porn. This was NOT consensual. This was the worst.

You stood by the cave entrance, knees trembling, out of breath and uncomfortably hot from your urgency to get here.  
  
Your knees felt weak from running. Your entire body was trembling. And you told yourself you had just overexerted yourself, had run too fast in your rush to get here—  
_  
_ But the truth was you were just afraid.

 

Afraid of Sans even if you refused to admit it. Afraid of what might happen tonight. Afraid of dying, afraid of pain…

 

You’d often wondered what death felt like. You hoped it wasn’t as bad as you dreamed. And it wasn’t death itself but the act of dying what you were afraid of.

 

Your nightmares of dying felt realer than ever tonight, with your heart beating loudly on your chest and Sans looking at you like—

 

You swallowed your fears and kept your gaze firmly on Sans. Willed your body to remain still, absolutely determined to stand your ground despite your rising panic. And as you looked at Sans head-on, drowning in worry as you tried to figure out what was bothering him, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.  
  
Sans looked startled and guilty but it was still him.

 

And for a moment, all you could do was look at him. The sound of your heavy breaths and the waterfall just outside the cave masked the silence that had fallen between you. And it was like there was an unspoken understanding between you, with just the one look. You’d always be there for him, and—

 

Your chest was full of butterflies. Your cheeks turned bright pink. And this was the person who you loved the most.

 

This was _Sans_. Why were you so afraid of him?

  
He closed the distance between the two of you.

 

There was an urgency in him that startled you. He stopped right in front of you. Moved a hand to your chin. And then he tilted your head up just slightly, and for the briefest moment...  


He glanced down to your lips before his pupils met yours. Sans' eye sockets softened. And it was like there was doubt, and fear, and _sincere adoration_ mixed all in one—  
  
The moment passed quickly. You were sure you'd imagined it. And then his shoulders slumped with an air of defeat, his expression turned haunted, and he leaned in.   


He hesitated again for _just a fraction of a second_ before his mouth met your lips and _he kissed you_.  
  
The buzz of his magic felt soft against your lips.

 

And you stopped thinking.

 

You dropped whatever it was you’d been holding. Love and affection rushed through you at once. And you felt bold suddenly, after all this time loving him— You moved your hands to his coat and pulled Sans close. You kissed him back. You didn't know what you were doing but you kissed him back.

 

And there was sincerity, and there was affection, and there was your pure love and all the adoration you felt for him running through every fiber of your being as you kissed him—

  
Sans pulled you closer to him.

 

His touch made your heart soar and it set you on fire.  
  
Your hands tightened their grip on his coat. His kisses became more insistent. The enthusiasm of your reciprocation seemed to cause something, and the soft buzz against your lips became _demanding_ , _firm_.

 

You quickly felt inadequate. This was your first kiss, you didn't know what you were doing...  


Sans clearly did.

 

You pushed back your self-doubt, your growing feelings of inadequacy. You told yourself that this was _Sans_. He didn’t seem to mind your lack of experience as he kissed you. But a certain panic settled deep in your chest. You let him take the lead for fear of disappointing him.

 

_(What if you weren’t enough for him? You’d never been enough for anybody.)  
_  
But then he pulled away from you just slightly. Looked at you with hazy pupils. And he whispered an “i love you” that was _so devoted_ and _miserable_ and—

 

You thought he sounded like he had just whispered his most broken and deepest confession.

 

And when he leaned in to kiss you again, breath warm and intoxicating once his mouth rejoined yours, his hands found your wrists.

  
Your back was pressed firmly against the cold, smooth rock of the cave wall.  
  
And you froze.

 

Your heart started racing.  
  
Flowey hadn’t lied. This would be  _the end_ of you.

  
Sans let out a low sigh. His body against yours trembled slightly, like yours was. And he sounded _so sad_ , defeated and regretful, and miserable, and " _god_ , kid. i’m sorry."  


A shift in position. His mouth left your lips. And it travelled _down, down, down_ across your cheek until it settled into the side of your neck.  
  
And then something thick, slimy and _hot_ , buzzing with magic travelled up the skin of your neck. You wanted to scream as soon as you registered the feeling: what must have been Sans' tongue. What must have been Sans _tasting_ you.

 

His tongue on your neck sent an unwanted jolt of electricity down your entire being.  
  
And all the butterflies you’d felt died one by one inside your chest.

 

An entirely new feeling started to pool deep inside you, interlaced with fear and with shame.

 

And you... You didn't like this.

 

The sensation of his hot, heavy tongue against your skin mixed in with his warm breath on your neck. It caused a blend of pleasure and fear to rush through you. And you were horrified to find you had to stop yourself from trying to give Sans better access to your neck. 

 

You bit your lip, ashamed to find that even as he forced you to remain still, a part of you didn't need forcing.

 

And when he spoke,

 

"i am  _so, so sorry_. i promise you'll enjoy this, ok?" 

 

His voice was deceptively soft but you caught the hint of a growing excitement.

 

The softness of his words contrasted jarringly with the forceful way Sans held your wrists.  
  
Deep within you, you panicked. 

 

And whatever Sans was planning, you knew you didn't want.  
  
So you heard yourself _pleading_ , no matter how many times you'd dreamt of it not working, “Sans— you don't have to—” 

 

He silenced you rather quickly with his hand under your shirt. Sans' magic dragged up across your back in a way that made you gasp. And the feeling was electrifying. It sent a rush of warmth through you. And you wanted Sans _close_ but you still tried to tell him to stop, only your mouth had stopped working and the words came out a soft _whine_. 

 

It was _embarrassing_. You didn't like the noise coming out of you.  


The magic came back. The mixture of Sans's hand across your skin and the trail of magic he left behind was almost more than you could take. Sans held you in place, his body firmly against yours, with his mouth pressed against your neck in a way that felt entirely too intimate, almost possessive.

 

You didn’t know he could _be_ like this. And when he spoke again, it was unlike anything you’d ever heard before.   
  
“i want to show you how good i can make you feel.” His voice was low, rough and hungry. He sounded less like your Sans and more like a real monster. And his voice scared you and yet weirdly excited you. It sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps up for arms and a heat down between your thighs that—  
  
His tongue once again against your neck as he tasted you. Sans let out a grunt of growing excitement. And your heart beat so fast that you were afraid it would break. 

 

“you’ll like this. i promise.” 

  
Your thoughts started to blur and the beating of your chest got _so loud_. “Sans— _wait_ —”  
  
Sans ignored you. He let go of your wrists so that both his hands could explore your body. And you immediately moved the hands he’d released to hold onto his coat. You didn't even think about it, didn't even question your choice—

 

Sans meant comfort. Sans meant safety. Sans was—

 

He was the only one you had.

 

Your skin became exposed to the cool, humid air.

 

Sans was undressing you. “ _i’m tired of waiting._ ” 

 

And it was almost like what he was doing meant nothing. Sans nuzzled your neck before biting your earlobe.

 

Your chest was cold. Your entire body felt numb. And there was a ringing in your ears, and a heat, and _shame_ —

 

“you have  _no idea_  how long i’ve wanted to do this to you," you heard his voice almost from somewhere else. "it’s felt like  _years_.”

 

You were thirteen, now. You weren't so innocent. And the reality of what he wanted to do to you came crashing down.

 

Sans wanted sex. Wanted sex with you before he killed you.

 

You weren't... _ready_.  


His hand and magic up your torso. You were too shocked to do anything but let out a shameful moan. And as your cheeks stung, uncomfortably hot with the sting of your humiliation—

 

Sans looked down at you, a knowing smile smug on his face, and you wanted to _die_ —

 

He was going to think you had wanted this from the start. That you were the kind of person who would jump into sex right after your first kiss. And you weren't, _you weren't_ —

  
_He started pulling up your shirt._

  
(“i  _swear_  this doesn’t mean that i don’t love you, kiddo”)

 

And suddenly you were cold, and exposed, and frightened. Your shirt, your sweater... Everything had disappeared. Your bare chest was pressed firmly against Sans in a way that left you mortified. And you immediately scrambled to try to cover yourself—  
  
Sans moved your hands away and held them down against the wall, forcing you to stay exposed to him. Your cheeks burned red with shame, your entire body burned red as you felt him looking down at you—  


You didn't like being under his scrutiny like this.  
  
“i do love you," he whispered, voice soft and almost reverent as he trained his eye sockets rather lewdly on your chest. “ _i really do_. i just—”  
  
_Please_   _s t o p_.  


“ _god_  i am  _so selfish." His grip tightened around your wrists._  
  
“you have  _no idea_ , kid.  _i’m sorry_.”

 

And he moved your hands over your head to leave you even more exposed to him. He held your hands there with one of his own. And he  _still_  wasn’t looking at you, as you tried to break free and he didn’t budge, too preoccupied with bringing his free hand up to y o u r –  
  
His hand felt warm against your chest. The phalanges against your bare skin felt hard, smooth and coarse at once depending on the angle, and the feeling was mildly pleasant, and he...  
  
You stopped moving when he started playing with your breast. Squeezed your eyes shut as he teased and rubbed you. Played with you.  
  
And it was impossible that this was really happening to you. This was going to end up just another nightmare, you'd had these sick dreams before. This was a nightmare.

 

You bit back shame, and tears, and your pleas of mercy and resigned yourself to wait until this ended.

  
Your entire body felt uncomfortably hot. Your skin felt too sensitive. And you weren’t even sure what was happening to you.  
  
Sans let out a low chuckle above you. He moved his head to lick your earlobe and moved a hand down to your pants.

 

You gasped before freezing, numb emptiness enveloping you in a thick layer of denial. And you didn't want to feel this, the alluring electricity of his magic, the pleasant way Sans' power felt grazing your hips. 

 

There was a warmth building within you that left you panicking. And despite the numbness of your mind, your skin felt like every single one of your nerve endings was liking this.

 

Your body responded to Sans' mouth on your neck. You felt an alluring heat envelop you as his voice grazed your ears. Excited gasps and low moans. The occasional kiss being pressed against your neck as he touched you. It felt unbearably like _too much_ and _not enough_ all at once.

 

You were too aware of Sans' grip on your wrists, holding you down so tightly that you were sure it was cutting off circulation. You were too aware of the cool rock against your back, digging into your skin as Sans pressed you against it. You were too aware of the cold air that enveloped you. And the coolness of the air against your bare skin rivaled the warmth of Sans' body and the heat that kept building in you and pooling between your thighs.

 

You felt too sensitive yet numb. Too aware of what was happening to you even as your mind insisted that this must be happening to someone else.

 

This wasn't you, who was feeling this way.  
  
Sans' low growl against your ear forced your mind to come back to this moment. And this was Sans holding you down, this was Sans' hand in your pants, Sans pressing yourself against you so close that you felt the vibrations of his chest against your own as he spoke—  
  
“d'you remember  _the first time we fucked, kid?_ ”  
  
The painful realization that Sans had done this to you before 

 

Dreams of a budding crush. Of Sans' name written with little hearts on your notebook. Of pure feelings and hope blossoming in your chest, of warm love and adoration.

 

And all of that withering in you as Sans held you down against his bed. And all of that dying in you as Sans forced himself inside you, piercing you with blinding pain.

 

The pain of Sans inside you. Shame, hot tears and self-disgust. Feeling helpless as he groaned on top of you, forcing himself in, tearing you apart—and then _death_.

 

Pain and _death_.

 

Sans had done this to you before. Had had sex with you before.

 

Of course he had. You'd dreamt he had. You’d just ignored it.

 

And just like in your dreams, Chara's voice was eerily quiet.  
  
You were all alone with Sans. And the pain and the tears were incoming.  
  
You heard a gasp as you started to fight with all your might, struggling to break free despite knowing you had no chance. You didn't want the pain, the unbearable humiliation— The feeling of Sans inside of you and the grunts of his pleasure at the expense of your pain. And Sans just pressed himself against you more. Bucked his hips against you with heavy breaths. And he was undeniably excited. The harder you fought, the louder his gasps and his pants against your neck and the tighter his grip on your wrists and the more excited he became and the more dismissive of your refusal and—

 

Red hot tears, now, falling down your cheeks. The dull ache of defeat and of helplessness. You weren't strong enough to fight him. You tried to look away. And you begged him, as your last attempt at distancing yourself from him just gave him more access to your neck, made him lick your oversensitive skin deliciously and the warmth in your lower abdomen return at full force—

  
You begged him. You more than begged him. “Um—No—I don’t—Sans, please, please—”  
  
Frantic words escaping your lips in a desperate attempt to convince him to show Mercy and stop. But instead of stopping, he laughed. It was a deep, dismissive laugh you'd never heard before, laced with coarse lust and a cruel anticipation.

 

The sheer weight of it left your heart heavy with despair.

  
And when he told you, voice low and rough with a growing desire, “you can’t  _honestly_  want me to stop," you felt your own anticipation building as your heart raced and your knees trembled.  


"isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” You pressed your thighs together at the question.

 

“you must at least dream of it.” The throbbing between your legs felt uncomfortable.

 

“ _i know i do,_ ”he confessed, 

_  
_ And he moved the hand underneath your pants to the front of you. You gasped and choked out an unwanted moan when his fingers found the source of your warmth and pressed against it. And you felt his hard phalanges touch you through the thin, damp fabric of your underwear.  You let out a strangled sob, and then another, as he started moving his fingers against you in a way that was—

 

Pleasant. Your cheeks burned red and your tears fell hot with the humiliation of finding it _pleasant_.

 

Ragged breaths. Stubborn denial. And you didn't know what to think, what to feel as he touched you. You knew you didn't want this, and yet your body seemed to. And through it all there was the lingering threat of unbearable pain once Sans forced himself in you. And through it all was the frightening knowledge that no matter what happened tonight, you would die in the end.

 

And tonight your heart warred with your mind and they both warred against your body.

 

Love and want and fear. An overbearing need you didn't know you could possess. And you felt guilty, and _horrified_ —

 

You didn't want any of this. And yet you did.

 

You didn't want—

  
Sans let go of your wrists. He sounded mildly irritated. “just give up and enjoy it.”   
  
And when you broke free, and he removed his hand from your panties so he could unbutton the front of your pants, something in your mind clicked in place and you—

  


You _very meekly_ tried to push him away. what little strength you possessed had left you. And your body felt numb. Your hands were shaking—  
  
Sans just swatted your hands away with an ease that stung. Chuckled at you dismissively, completely ignored your attempt at stopping this.

  
You felt your pants sag down as Sans slowly pulled down your zipper. “ _c’mon_ , kid. you know you want this.”  


“let me do this for you. i’ve been dying to hear you scream my name.”

 

You wanted to cry and you did. Hid your face and all that you could of you against Sans' coat. And your voice sounded strained, and you hoped he took pity on you, when you pleaded “I can’t—  _this feels wrong."_

 

Sans shoved his hand under your panties. You felt his fingers directly in a place that was far too sensitive.  


A gasp escaped your parted lips. Sans leaned against you and bit your earlobe. And then he started rubbing the source of your heat; slow and skilled fingers circling a part of you that was throbbing with need—  


If felt like you needed him. Your face burned with shame and your tears didn't stop as you bucked your hips against Sans' hand in a sad attempt to extinguish the fire inside you.  


You heard Sans' breath catch, sharp intake of breath loud against to your ear. And he tensed up. He froze against you, but his fingers kept moving against you. Idle fingers playing you in a way that was hot shame and delicious pleasure. 

  
When he spoke, a whisper hoarse with a thick lust right next to your ear, his voice was slightly condescending.   


“you’re such an innocent child." 

 

Your face felt hot. Your grip on his coat tightened. And you tried to hide your face again, feeling ashamed of how much older he was and _thoroughly inadequate_ due to your lack of experience—

 

Sans didn't let you hide. He held you in place. Pressed a reassuring kiss against your neck. Slid his tongue across the outer shell of your ear. And “ _i love you,"_  he told you, reassurance mixed with excitement and desire. "there’s nothing to be ashamed of. i just want to show you how much i care, frisk _. just let me do this,_   _i know you’ll love it_.” 

 

_No—_

Sans didn’t wait for you to respond. He slowly inserted a finger into you. You bit back a shameful moan at the new sensation, your body clenched around him almost instantly. The warmth in you intensified, you were becoming desperate— You felt like putty in his hands and even though he was no longer holding you down, you were unable to _move_ and—

 

Your breaths had turned into pants and you couldn't beg him to stop even if you had been in control of your own vocal cords.

 

“you’re already  _so wet for me_. that’s a  _good thing." A hint of approval in his voice. Sans kissed the small of your neck_

  
_“it means you want it._ ” He slowly dragged his finger out of you before pumping it back in, slick with your own wetness, and—

 

You couldn’t fight him. You gave up. Completely resigned yourself. You were going to just let him.

 

Shame and defeat mixed with undeniable pleasure.  


Sans’ eagerness intensified as soon as you surrendered. He pressed his mouth against your ear, impatient to show you how much you excited him. And his soft moans and heavy breaths mixed with your own as he pumped into you, unbearably slow at first but increasing in speed. And after a while, you felt a knot of tension building in you. His movements, previously more than enough, became painfully slow. And you wanted more from him, you wanted—

 

_More_ —

 

And all of a sudden, Sans let out a short, bitter laugh.

 

Your heart froze in your chest. Had you said that out loud?

 

You mouth was dry. “Sans?”   
  
He shook his head and kissed the side of your neck. “ _i love you."_  
  
And then in a flash you were painfully forced into the cold rock floor. Sans was on top of you, his hip bones digging uncomfortably into you. You winced as soon as the change in position caused the sharp rocks to cut into the bare skin of your back. A sharp cry of pain escaped you—

 

Sans' eye sockets widened slightly as soon as he heard you. His pupils flashed full of concern for the slightest second. And you saw the beginnings of a nascent regret—

 

He hesitated on top of you for just a moment. Just a brief moment that was more than enough. And as his pupils shifted to the sharp rocks on the floor, guilt and doubt clear on his face mixed in with the saddest regret—

 

No matter what he did to you now, you couldn't unsee it.

 

Your heart broke as you realized that the man you loved was _so broken_ that he could do something as terrible as this to you and still care.

 

And with a flashed of cyan magic, you saw Sans choke out his regret, saw him choke out his worry, saw him replace it with an even firmer resolve to hurt you—

 

The cave glowed a faint blue. Sans' eye came to life. And suddenly you felt something, unbelievably thick and heavy, pressing uncomfortably hot against you.

 

Your breath caught in your throat. _Sans_.

 

And it was like suddenly an old fear possessed you and you were blinded to all reason. You started madly scrambling to get away, as far away from Sans as you possibly could. And you _knew_ how this felt, to have him in you. You _knew_ how it hurt. And so you fought as if your life depended on it, frantically trying to shift your hips away from him so that he wasn't pressing so dangerously close to your entrance—

 

Sans bit back a stifled moan and he shuddered on top of you before quickly enveloping you in a wave of blue magic. He  _forced you to still_. Your entire body felt too heavy to move. And he growled harshly on top of you, almost threateningly, “ **don’t.** ”   


You froze, panicked beyond belief at the roughness of his booming voice. And it was a command now; he wasn't asking.

 

The heavy sound of his restraint in his breaths. He took a moment to pause before continuing, “ **don’t fight it**.  ** _i—_**   ** _i like that_** _**a bit too much.**_ ” 

 

And you suddenly felt like a mouse caught by a particularly vicious cat and went deathly still. 

  
You were rewarded with a soft kiss on the neck. Sans relaxed on top of you. And “the first time we did this, it hurt.”   


“i— your body’s probably remembering that. we’re going to go slower this time. if it hurts too much, you can tell me and i’ll stop. i can go back to using my hand on you. i— i don’t mind. but  **don’t**   **struggle**. i won’t be able to stop if you do. i usually like…  _being rough_. do you understand that, kid?”  
  
And all you could do was nod as your heart threatened to burst out of your chest.

 

You were so afraid. He wouldn’t stop. You knew he’d offered, but he wouldn’t stop.

 

And as soon as his magic let go of you, your hands went back to Sans' coat. 

 

Sans _started pushing into you_

  
Something began to tear inside of you and you let out a frightened cry. Sans pulled back almost _immediately_ , concern clear on his face—

 

But the tip of him remained still pressing into you. 

 

“ _sorry_ ,” he muttered, showering your neck in a flutter of small kisses. “are you alright?”  
  
You didn't know what else to do but to nod again, so used to lying and claiming you were okay. And you kept your face pressed firmly against his chest, you didn’t want to look—

  
Sans hesitated again. Seemed to consider you for a long moment. And when he spoke, he sounded honestly worried about you. “kid—  _do you want this?_  we don’t have to keep going.”  
  
Your grip on his coat tightened. You’d honestly not expected him to ask you this question. And what could you _say?_

 

Sans was still on top of you. He was still pressing himself firmly against you. He was going to kill you in the end, was planning to force you to have sex with him first.

 

You felt his dick throb uncomfortably against you.

 

And he’d already gone too far.

 

No matter what he did now, your trust was broken.

 

And wasn't it better for him, wasn't it Mercy— to just readily give him what he was already planning to take. To just give him permission. Retroactively absolve him. You had already forgiven him for killing you, what was one more Mercy?  
  
And so you told yourself out loud, ”It’s not like it will really matter for long, will it?”

 

Sans froze on top of you, eye sockets pitch black and wide as saucers. He  _knew that you knew._  
  
And for a moment, he looked hesitant. Seemed about to let go of you, just let you go, just back off for good.

 

He could be so sweet. _So_ kind. You knew that he could.

 

His voice was strained when he spoke. “no, i— i guess it won’t.” But he didn't move. You hid your face.

 

You started crying as quietly as you could as the tip of his length twitched uncomfortably just inside you. Tried to keep your focus away from it, to ignore how warm you felt with him pressing against you, how your body was betraying you just as much if not more than Sans was and _you hated yourself_ —

 

You hated that you wanted him.

 

The sound of rain outside drowned out the silence and the rock you were being forced to lie on felt rough and damp.  
  
Sans stayed on top of you. His voice was shaking. And you could practically hear how small he felt, how worthless, when he pleaded, “if… if you don’t mind, i— i’d like to keep going. i still want this. i still...”  
  
It wasn’t fair of you to feel the sharp sting of your disappointment in him yet you did.

 

You pulled Sans as close to you as you could. Reminded yourself that for his sake you had to be okay with this. And what was one more Mercy, what was a little more pain—

 

You were still dying. You’d still forgiven him. And if this absolved just one of his transgressions—

  
“I still love you, too,” you told him, and you meant it. The words came out strained, but you meant it.

And as soon as the words left your mouth, he slammed himself into you with a single thrust.

  
You screamed so loud you thought your throat would break. It felt like he was splitting you into shreds and it _burned_. And he slammed _so hard_ , he was _too big_ , the girth of him felt like it was tearing you apart and _ripping you into pieces_ and—

 

As soon as he was in, he pulled out. Slammed himself back into you even harder, again and again. And perhaps worse than the pain he caused was how much he was enjoying this. How your screams and your loud, wet sobs couldn't mask the harsh grunts against your ear, his pants, his unrestrained moans of pleasure—

 

He didn't care how much it hurt, far too preoccupied with enjoying himself.

 

He didn't care. He didn't care. Not about you. Just about this. And the flutter of butterflies you'd once felt for him now felt like the last struggles of thrashing cockroaches dying inside your chest. They felt like sickness, decaying maggots crawling, cruel reminders of your impending death, and agony, and misery—

 

The cave felt too humid now, and rancid with sweat.

 

Sans felt too hot, unbearably close on top of you. 

 

And you felt trapped under him. Even breathing was difficult. You felt too hot, too sweaty, _disgusted_ —

 

He was in you. He was _in_ _you_. He was holding you down. You couldn't move. You couldn't fight—

 

Sans kept shoving himself in and out. Licking your skin. Kissing your neck. Panting against you as he used you and—

 

And in between two particularly hard thrusts he told you "i'm sorry".

 

Your heart rose to your throat with a wave of pity and nausea as your soul instinctively leapt towards forgiveness.

 

And how many times had he done this to you? How many times had Sans hurt you? How many times did you choose to forgive him, would continue to choose to forgive him, because—

 

Another sob. You felt so _hopeless_.

 

You’d do anything you could for him _because you loved him_. 

 

And the pain was unbearable and you let out a broken " _Please_."

 

Sans stopped dead in his tracks. He actually _stopped_ when he heard you. And when he looked at you, eye sockets wide with regret and horror—

 

You saw his resolve crumbling. 

 

He looked so broken.

 

And he— He kissed you again. Apologized in between frantic kisses ("i'm sorry. i’m sorry, kiddo. i’m sorry it hurts. i'm sorry"). And—

 

The hope that it was over bloomed inside your chest. It came and it left. He resumed pushing himself into you.

 

And this wouldn't stop until you were dead.

 

Sobs and cries but he was gentler this time. Intensely affectionate. He kissed you and handled you in a way that confused you, as if he were now afraid of hurting you. Just _now_ afraid of breaking you.

 

Your heart was already broken.

 

He slowed down his thrusts. The movements felt deliberate. And he rolled his hips into you, several ways trying different angles, until you _felt_ —

 

The sharp sting of pain turned into a dull ache. Something _else_ was happening to you. And when he hit… something _in you_ — a breathy moan escaped your lips. You didn't understand what was happening. And the fire you'd felt before was _building back up_.  


Sans heard you. Sans noticed. And he repeated the motion—again, and again, and _again_.

 

It felt increasingly good. You felt increasingly guilty. And you squeezed your eyes shut, so ashamed that you were enjoying this—  


You pretended not to be there as he forced himself in you. You pretended that the gasps and moans of pleasure weren't your own. And some of them weren't. Some of them were Sans'. Sans, who was enjoying this. Sans, who didn't care—

 

You'd wanted confessions of true love and innocent first kisses and maybe holding hands on a date when you imagined yourself with him.  


Instead you got broken apologies and Sans guilty on top of you and a blinding pain that was turning into shameful pleasure and the musk of adulthood mixed in with the glaring pain that you were not sufficient. 

 

And yet you pretended—

 

As you _so often_ pretended—

 

Closed your eyes and dreamt of kisses. Closed your eyes shut and dreamt you had consented to this. And the heat pooling in between your thighs felt good, as he thrust his length into you—  


It felt good. You told yourself it felt good. You told yourself you had wanted this. Gave yourself in. And a guilty

 

"i'm sorry, kiddo."

 

Broke in and shattered the delusion.

 

Your eyes wide open. Vision blurry from tears. When had you cried? When had you started crying? And the slower, gentler pace wasn't enough—  


Sans went back to being rough. Fast and hash and merciless—  


You squeezed your eyes shut and stopped yourself from screaming. It hurt so much. He was hurting you so much.  


He was slamming against you as hard as he could. Harsh bone against skin, pushing you against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back—

 

The word " _sadist_ " came to mind in a way that was accusing and _bitter_ , but the voice wasn't Chara's. It was your own.

 

You shut down all thinking. You shut down all feeling. And if you were crying, you didn't know. And if Sans was enjoying himself, you didn't care. And—

 

He slowed down for a while before he got aggressive. Slammed himself in you as hard as he could. And he grabbed your hair. Pushed your face down against the ground.

 

You let him. The sharpness of the ground dug into your cheek. And you focused on that and not in the sore heat pooling in your abdomen. Focused on the sting of your cheek instead of the wetness of your tears and how warm your face was with shame, how warm Sans felt on top of you. And you just let him.

 

Just let him until he got tired of doing this.

 

But the wait for him to be done felt like forever.

 

There was a child sobbing in the distance. You didn't recognize the sound as your own until Sans absentmindedly shoved his hand against your mouth and the sobbing stopped.

 

You stayed quiet after that. Drowned out the sound of falling water. Bone against skin. Sans muttering—

 

_Praises_. He was muttering _praises_. A wave of nausea hit you.

 

And when he removed his hand, you hid your face against his coat.

 

The blue fabric of his coat dampened, with sweat or with tears or with blood. You didn't think of it. You didn't care. And Sans didn't either. 

 

Had probably not even noticed.

 

And after a while, he brought a hand down between your legs.

 

A loud ringing in your ears. Your heart was racing. And it was beating _so fast_ that it would break, it would _surely_ break—

 

A sob that came out as a sharp moan. Your heart in your throat and your eyes squeezed shut.

 

The sudden need for him to keep going. His fingers rubbing circles against you. Shame in your throat, stinging with betrayal and self-disgust.

 

_Keep going..._

_Don't stop._

_You hated yourself._

 

Harsher thrusts. Rougher fingers. Pain mixed with pleasure, shame mixed with lust.

 

And maybe this was sex.

 

Maybe it was normal to feel this pain and _this guilty_.

 

Sans moved a hand to grab your chin and forced you to look at him. 

 

And _praises_.

 

_A shower of praises._

What you'd been starving for. What you had needed. He gave you praises as you hurt, praises as you moaned, praises and his love for you and—

 

You didn't know what to think. _("mmmh, that's a good kid.”)_

 

You didn't know what to feel. _("you're liking this, aren't you?")_

 

You didn't know— _("you feel **so good** , frisk.")_

 

You didn't know— _("not even fighting this.")_

 

You didn't know— _("just letting me fuck you.")_  


_"good kid." "good girl." "you're such a good girl, frisk." "you're doing so good." "you feel **so good** , kiddo." "shhh." "don't cry." "shhhh."_

 

_"i love you."_

  
Eyes wide. Heart quivering. And you’d never been loved before.

 

Unwanted. You were so used to being unwanted.

 

Sans wanted you.

 

And when he kissed you this time, thrusts slower but _firm_ , hot slimy tongue down your throat, blocking off air, filling your nose with the scent of him and of his warm breath and of ketchup, you—

 

You kissed him back.

 

He broke the kiss and sloppily licked your cheek before resuming his more brutal pace. You grit your teeth. Focused on his hand on you. The way he held you. The way _he loved you_.

 

His hand cupped your cheek. A kiss on your forehead. Hand back your chin and. "look at me.”

 

You did.   
  
A particularly harsh thrust and you winced.

 

And he whispered "i’ve always loved you.

 

"loved you for _ages_. you have _no idea_ —”

 

He kissed you again. Whispered sweet nothings. And then he let go of your chin and paused for _the slightest moment_ when you hid your face behind his coat again.

 

Voice strained and hesitant. “frisk?”

 

You didn't want to look at him. 

 

And—

 

“kiddo?”

 

There was pain in his voice. 

 

And he started apologizing but he didn't stop. He thrust in you harder. His breaths erratic. His fingers on you became far more _insistent_.

 

"i'm sorry." You wanted to cry but you wouldn’t let yourself.

 

"i'm sorry." He sounded _so hurt_. Your heart broke to hear it.

 

And in the end, all you could do was to cling to him. Pressed your face against his chest. Fingers firmly on his coat. And you hoped that Sans knew that you loved him, hoped that he knew you forgave him, because you couldn’t find your voice—

 

It was like a tight knot had grown inside your throat, tying you down with feelings of dread and feelings of misery. And  a tension built inside you the more that Sans moved against you and—

 

"i'm sorry,” Sans said again.

 

“i love you.” He stayed on top of you.

 

And “i really _do_ love you, kid. i just—"

 

Something _happened_.

 

Your vision turning white. You were biting back screams. And this felt _good_ , this felt _wonderful_ , this _felt_ —

 

Sans let out a sharp gasp. Picked up his pace so that he slammed into you _harder_. And your grip on him tightened, your legs pulled him close—

 

Your name from his mouth and obscenities and _something unbearably good_ released inside of you as you _screamed_ , and _tightened_ , and—

 

A sharp grunt against your ear before warmth pumping into you. Each new thrust from Sans struggling to force himself in you as far as he could go.

 

And when he stopped abruptly, he took a moment to catch his breath.

 

Hazy mind full of confusion before you realized that he was done.

 

And so— Your heart was racing—

 

_So were you._

Out of breath and thoroughly spent and full of aftershocks of whatever you’d gone through still sparking pleasurably through you even as your insides hurt.

 

Sans rolled off of you as soon as he was done catching his breath.

 

Just as soon as he was done.

 

And he left you completely exposed to the cool and damp air, lying naked on a pool of warm filth. The hard rock of the cave floor still cut painfully into your back. You could feel his hot, oozing magic seeping out of you. And you felt—  


You felt low.

 

You felt dirty. You _were_ dirty.

 

And he was done with you, wasn’t he?

 

Now you died.

 

Your gaze fixed to the ceiling. The texture of it looked even harsher than the ground you lay on. And for some strange reason, you focused on it. Not on Sans. Not on your naked body. Not on what you could only assume was his semen seeping out of you and not on your bloody cheek, your bruised and cut back, your broken hymen.

 

Instead you wondered why you'd never really seen the ceiling of this cave before.

 

And you felt e _mpty_.You felt _numb._

  
You gave up.

 

Sans’ gaze stayed on you for the longest time. You didn’t see it, but felt it. And as it was, you didn’t have any attention to spare for him. You focused on the ceiling, where there were so many different shades of grey and brown. There was green moss, barely visible under the dim blue glow of the echo flowers. And you knew that Sans was watching you.

 

You didn't dare to look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you’d break.

 

And this was about as much as your heart could take.

 

Sans could kill you now for all you cared.

 

And how many times had Sans made you not only greet death, but welcome it.

 

And how many more times until you finally stayed dead?

 

You wanted to go back. To just go back. Back to before this. Back to the real Sans. Back to the covert cuddles on the couch, back to the jokes, back to your silly crush—

 

Back to bonding over bad tv and lunch at Grillby’s—

 

You wanted to die. You _wanted_ to go back.

 

Sans moved a shy hand toward you and you flinched. He gently stroked your cheek. And your heart still caught unwillingly in your throat after all he’d done to you—,

 

You focused on the cave ceiling. You focused on the grey, the moss. And you didn’t have it in you to marvel over _how much—_ just _how very much_ you _still loved him_.

 

You just wanted to go back. You wanted to forget this. You wanted to go back—

  
“i really do love you, you know.” His voice was shy and guilty. Sans _sounded so afraid_. And your heart broke. You wanted to go back, but—

 

But—

 

When you died and forgot this, you'd forget that he loved you alongside of it.

 

You'd forget that he kissed you. You'd forget he was sorry.

 

And you finally understood why Sans was often so lonely.

 

You’d forget this, all that happened here. You’d forget the good parts, the worst parts—

 

_He_ wouldn’t.

 

And "Me too." You loved him too.

  
A sigh so soft yet full of relief and _you heard it_. “i wish our circumstances were different.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
And then he hesitated.

 

His voice shook.

 

“i’ll— see you in the next timeline, kiddo.” 

 

And _you didn’t look at him_. You drew your last breath.

 

He pressed his mouth against yours and gave you the most chaste of kisses. You closed your eyes. You squeezed them shut.

  
You braced yourself.    
  
“i love you.”

  


 

And the world was white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no energy left after this. None. Criticism welcome.


	19. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting for days now so I guess I'll post it. May have to come back and fix it later, or elaborate...

His mouth was on your lips before you even knew what was happening.  
  
The kiss filled you with dread but still your hands twitched. You almost kissed Sans back, despite the fact you didn't want to.  
  
It was completely automatic. You were so used to feeling like you wanted to despite every fiber of your being protesting.  
  
And you couldn't believe the skeleton was pulling this shit again: a kiss followed by betraying Frisk and _a gross violation of trust_  followed by the pain and shame of forced intimacy. And then death.  
  
Death, _again._ And _again_ and _again_ and _again_ — the _asshole_.  
  
Fucking _asshole_. Asriel was right; Sans really _was_ trash.  
  
And even worse than death were the second-hand feeling of butterflies in your chest. The jittery, nervous feeling of a crush forced onto you because you were stuck sharing somebody else's body. Worse was the way you always felt yourself respond, a heart that wasn't yours beating _so loudly_ inside your chest that the sound of it almost drowned out your own consciousness and the reminder that the feelings you felt weren't your own.  
  
And that she'd be feeling these things for _him_ —  
  
Oh my _God_. Frisk. Why couldn't she listen to you. You were both trapped, and she refused to listen to you. You were both too vulnerable, you were both too young—  
  
You wanted to die again as his tongue found your mouth, _thick_ and _slimy_ and _gross_. You wanted to die again and yet you resigned yourself to feel it. And then his hand down your pants, he was getting excited—  
  
_His thumb rubbing you. His finger inside you._   _Gross. Gross._ You wanted to cry yet you knew you couldn't. Frisk was far too forgiving, too good. You felt so _unbelievably_ dirty and vulnerable and knew at once that the feeling wasn't entirely just your own.  
  
And you hadn't been that much older than Frisk was, when you'd died. You weren't ready for this.  
  
You— You hated this. Nobody had asked you if you'd wanted this. And if you'd had your way, you'd both be free. If you'd had your way..  
  
You let your hands automatically move to Sans' coat as he started exploring you. And you were fully expecting pain, fully expecting humiliation, when you felt it.  
  
Or rather, the _lack_ of it.  
  
Your heart wasn't beating as loud as Frisk's did. You weren't weak at the knees. There were no dying butterflies. You felt nothing for _this disgusting asshole_ but _rage_. You felt _victorious_.  
  
You were _in control_. Your feelings were your own. And _this is for our own good, Frisk._  
  
You felt up his pockets and when you didn't find a weapon, _you bit him_.  
  
He killed you almost instantly but you didn't mind.  
  
He could kill you a million times. He probably already had. But you were already dead, you didn't care.  
  
You'd keep coming back as many times as you could.  
  
You'd drown out Frisk's weak protests and desire for Mercy each time. She may be forgiving, but _you_ weren't.  
  
Sans was an asshole and you were DETERMINED to hurt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not done with Chara. >_


	20. Damp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick post before bed. Unedited but oh well. I'm still alive.
> 
> Please stalk and/or harass my tumblr: kenyaketchup.tumblr.com

_Knowing the mouse might one day hack into the computerized safe and get the cheese... It fills you with determination..._

 

...and a sudden, unexplainable _pain_. The stinging pain of a million sharp needles all over your skin. Phantom bones. Pierced skin and bleeding organs. Pain pain pain pain pain

 

pain pain _pain_ never ending pain and _death_ death so many times you died _stinging_ cheek _burning_ throat _chocking_ pain

 

You heard your voice but was it really yours? Weren't you dead? And “Did you just... kill me a bunch of times?”

 

Sans practically ran to you. There was a split moment where you felt sure he would kill you. But then he looked so sorry—just _so, so sorry_ for whatever it is your body was feeling—

 

“bad runs.” He touched you. Your heart soared. And you'd never understood how you could feel so much better after he touched you, but suddenly his mouth and sparks of magic on your nose, your forehead— “a lot of them.” Voice hushed. “ _sorry._ ”

 

A burst of anxiety. “Did I kill anyone?”

 

“no.” A dozen small kisses peppered all over you. His touch was feather-light, fingertips grazing your hair, your cheek... “not once.” ...your ear... “i took care of it.”

 

Your heart sank.

 

He'd killed you.

 

You'd probably tried to kill him.

 

He'd—You'd made him—

 

“I'm sorry you had to do that.” _So_ sorry he'd had to kill you _again_ and made him go through a Reset _again_ because you weren't strong you weren't—

 

Not strong enough not fast enough Chara pressing _heavy—_

 

Sans snorted. Self- _deprecating_ and _bitter_ “you always think the best of me.” You were going to make him _hate himself_.

 

You stood on your toes and kissed his cheekbone. Reassured him. You had to. “I couldn't live with myself if I hurt anyone else. I thought— I thought I was doing a good job ignoring... _them_.” You could almost _see_ Chara glaring daggers—

 

(“ _Are you fucking kidding me!?”_ )

 

—at you. “I'm sorry. I can't believe I let them take over again. When did I die?”

 

(“ _He killed us and you're apologizing and you're blaming **me**!?”_ )

 

(“ _He did all of that shit and you're apologizing and you're_ _ **fucking**_ _blaming_ _ **me**_ _!?!”_ )

 

A tug at your soul. A flash of somebody else's determination. And you couldn't let them—

 

You were determined—

 

Sans was looking at you. “kid, you Saved here before you— before the timeline RESET. did you do it on purpose? do you know what it means to SAVE?”

 

(“ _Oh my God. Don't tell him that.”_ )

 

But you didn't.

 

You shook your head.

 

“okay, kid, then i need you to listen to me.” His hands cupped your cheeks. His eyes never left yours. And for a second, the butterflies in you fluttered, your heart soared, he _pressed his forehead against yours_ , you _loved_ _him_ — “just focus and listen to _me_ , okay?”

 

His breath on your lips made you flush. He was so close, it felt almost as if he was going to kiss you. You couldn't help but to think of how much

 

you _wanted_ him to.

 

Your heart was _so loud_ and beat _so furiously_. You forced yourself to stay still and not do anything that might mess this up. And... And play it cool, Frisk...

 

Did he _know_ how much you _liked_ him?

 

You _hoped—_ Maybe someday, he'd want you.

 

And then a stream of words from him that you didn't understand. It made you feel stupid. And of course you were so dumb. Sans was so, _so_ smart and he knew so many things and you _just_ —

 

“...you didn't do it on purpose?”

 

“Um— No, I— I don't think so. I'm not even sure what a timespace is.”

 

And then he _laughed_.

 

Your face burned. Your chest stung. And you were _so, so stupid_ _, Frisk._

 

“sorry, that was rude of me. that's what gaster and i preferred to call it. Spacetime?”

 

You didn't know what to tell him.

 

And when he laughed again (“ _oh, man._ you just have no clue, do you?”—you thought for sure you'd be crying soon.

 

You covered it up. You tried to be angry. But you just felt inadequate, and ashamed, and mad at yourself for being just this naïve little kid with your dumb heart set on someone who was so out of your league and so much smarter and cooler and experienced and—

 

You wouldn't cry in front of him. “Well I'm _so sorry_ I'm so dumb and not smart like _you_!”

 

You felt even stupider as soon as you'd said that.

 

(Sans was right whenever you fought: you were just _some dumb fucking kid._ )

 

Sans tried to apologize, stupid grin still on his face as he stiffened another laugh. “no, _sorry_ , don't be like that, kid. you're very clever. sometimes i just forget how _young_ you are.” And there was maybe something on what he had said, or the way he'd said it, that made his laughter die _completely_ and look at you in a way that made you feel—

 

Vulnerable.

 

You held your hands up to your chest and crossed them. “I'm not a child,” you said stubbornly. And you were going to be 14 next month. You _really_ weren't.

 

You could tell Sans was beginning to get irritated with you by the way he groaned and kept talking through gritted teeth. “i never said that. i'm sorry. let's just say i forget we don't have the same scientific background. anyway, about the SAVEs—you're not consciously doing them?”

 

“I don't think so,” you told him, backing down. You didn't want Sans to be angry with you. And he—

 

He pulled you close to him again as soon as you stopped being mad at him. His arms wrapped around your back, a kiss on the top of your head. You felt yourself blush like an idiot. It wasn't fair that he could do this to you. He _knew_ how much you liked him—

 

( _“He never hugs you like that around other people. But what do_ _ **I**_ _know, right?”_ )

 

But you were—

 

“sucks. that makes my job a bit harder.” He'd pulled you close enough, you felt the sound of his voice somehow reverberating on his ribcage. “you wanna get out of here? we can go somewhere else. grillby's?”—you perked up at the idea of free food—“the forest?”—okay—“we can even talk in your hiding spot.” Suddenly you were **s o s u r e** **h e w a s h u r t i n g y o u**.

 

A loud ringing in your ears and a whiteness in your vision that prevented you to _think_ and as soon as the rush of adrenaline pumped through your limbs you _pushed him off_ , _pushed Sans the heck away from you_. Your cheek stung. There was something _sharp_ pressed against your back _. pushing you down_. Something _heavy_ keeping you down. Damp air and suffocating and you felt _anxious anxious_ you were _so helpless_ death death nightmares **Sans** —

 

You'd pushed him away. _What were you doing._ Your heart was racing. “Um— Sorry.” Clenching your fists. Hands on your sweater. You felt damp. There was blood. You felt so sure there was blood. You started looking for it.

 

“you don't seem okay,” you heard Sans say. Where was the blood? Could he see it? Why was your back damp? “i can take you home.”

 

There was something— _heavy_ weighing you down. You wanted to start crying. Wanted to _scream_ _and_ _scream_ but Sans was here. You held it back. _Why were you damp? Did he see it?_ “papyrus is there.” What? “i could give you some space so you—”

 

He thought he had done something oh no he thought he had done something he was done with you tired please don't

 

You grabbed his hand and pulled Sans towards you. Eyes stung. Breaths shallow. Don't leave, don't leave, please— “You. I want you. I'm sorry. I don't—” Don't leave. I'll be good. “I don't know what came over me.” I don't know why I'm like this. “I'm sorry. I'm not mad.” Don't be mad. Don't get tired of me. “It was nothing you did. I'm sorry.”

 

You're sorry. You're so sorry. He's the only one you have, you're so sorry, he can't leave, he can't hate you please dad—

 

And then you were clinging to him, sobbing into his coat and crying your heart out like you _knew_ you shouldn't.

 

Sans was hugging you back. You were being _so selfish_. Stop crying. _Stop crying_. He would feel bad and _leave_ —

 

You were _so stupid_ , Frisk.

 

You felt a soft peck through your hair. “shh, kid.” His voice was so warm. “i understand. RESETs are iffy and the leftover emotions are never fun. i've been there.”

 

He... Sans understood?

 

You'd never quite felt the true depth of how grateful you could be for Sans until then.

 

“H-How can you _stand_ it?” It felt weird to talk to somebody who understood something you were going through. “I feel—I feel _awful_. I don't _want_ this.”

 

“it will pass, kiddo, shh.” He kissed your forehead. Wiped your tears away with a hand on your cheek. He made you feel better. You were anxious, and afraid, and you felt like you were going insane but Sans made you feel better. “i'm sorry,” and he really sounded sorry. “i'm _so sorry_ you're going through this. focus on breathing, sweetheart. i've got you.”

 

And could you trust him?

 

If he understood— If he had really gone through this before—

 

Sometimes, when you were by yourself, you cried. You cried if you were anxious, when the world was too much. You screamed. You yelled. You hit yourself, if you hated yourself enough.

 

You didn't want Sans to see. You didn't want him to get scared or annoyed and leave. But you were anxious, this was too much. You were feeling too many things and _you weren't alone_.

 

You could wait until you were alone, but—

 

Sans held you so tight.

 

You'd never trusted anyone with this before.

 

But he'd told you to breathe and you did. At first even, measured breaths that became erratic. Frantic breaths. Gasps for air. And then sobbing.

 

Shameful, ugly sobbing through shallow breaths. You couldn't take enough air. Your head felt dizzy. And your hands were numb and you were crying, and screaming and—

 

You didn't even know what you screamed.

 

You were shaking but Sans was there. You were screaming but Sans was hugging you. And he brushed his fingers through your hair, and he kissed you, and he loved you—

 

(He _did_ love you, right? Oh please, oh _please_ —)

 

You cried for many things. For the things you knew and the ones you didn't remember. For your lingering anxiety and pain of a Reset, for your old life above ground, for yourself—

 

For _Sans_ — He was _always_ on your mind and you sometimes worried for him _so much_ —

 

Sans let you. Sans understood. And maybe he'd never understand the entirety of everything that was wrong and bad about you, but as he held you you felt that he understood enough.

 

Enough to be there. Enough to be trusted. Enough to stay.

 

(Hopefully.)

 

Sometimes it felt like he was the only true friend you'd ever had.

 

 

 

You stopped crying eventually. Sans fussed over you, wiped your tears.

 

He looked _so, so sad_ and _lonely_ and you wondered if Resets were still hard for him, too.

 

You didn't know what to do for him other than offer a sincere “Thank you.”

 

And his eye sockets slightly widened. His expression turned haunted and miserable.

 

He softly told you “let me do something for you. anything. whatever you want.”

 

You pushed away a lingering, almost undefinable feeling of unease because where was this coming from? Instead you smiled. You could make him feel better. And you teased him a little, “You mean like a birthday present?”

 

Sans snorted, actually _snorted_ because of you. It made you feel clever. “yeah.”

 

“Don't let Papyrus feed me snail cake. That thing is disgusting.” You tried not to laugh but failed miserably.

 

Sans laughed along with you. “consider it done. i'll eat it myself if i have to.”

 

“I'll have the condiments ready,” you teased, rolling your eyes with pretend annoyance.

 

“ _mustard_ you think of everything?”

 

You laughed so hard at how stupid that pun was. “Ha! That was _so_ _lame_ , you dork.” And Sans _was_ a dork, and he was so perfect as he was, just _funny_ and _nice_ and

 

... _stuck_ _here_.

 

 _Thump_. The pull to a path towards something better for him.

 

For them. For everyone.

 

How could you be so selfish? “You know, there is one more thing. I'd choose it over the lack of snail cake, actually.”

 

“yeah, kid?”

 

“I think I need to keep going.” You felt determined, and so sure of yourself. This was something you had been thinking of for a while. “To meet Asgore. I can feel it. But I have to leave Snowdin for that, and I was hoping things could stay the same between us, that we could still be friends and hang out together, if— when I left.”

 

Sans' grin faded. “kid... there's no way i'm going to let you meet asgore. you're going to get yourself killed.”

 

No... No, he didn't _get_ it. “Maybe we can find another way,” you offered. “But I'm the last soul—you're all so close to be free—I just want—”

 

His voice lost all warmth when he spoke again, empty eye sockets and a grimace that— It was almost possessive. And a little bit chilling. “any other human could take your place. let them. you should stay.”

 

And what he was suggesting was so _impossibly selfish_ you couldn't help but reproach him. “ _Sans_. You know I can't do that.”

 

“ _i_ can,” he told you, and his hands traveled firmly down to your hips, pulling you _closer_. The emptiness of his eye sockets was starting to freak you out. “i swear if you leave i'm going to follow you”—you didn't like his tone—“and kill of any monster that tries to touch you. _i'll kill asgore_ if i have to. don't go, kid. Please?”

 

You pulled yourself away from him. You didn't like the way Sans spoke or what he was saying. And if he was freaking you out, you hid it. This was still Sans, you faced him head-on. “Don't tell me that,” you told him sternly, hoping to talk him out of whatever this was. “You're better than that.”

 

Sans let out a snort and pulled you back to him, wrapping his hands firmly against the small of your back and holding you unbearably close almost as if to spite you. You felt your face flush. This felt too forcibly intimate, suddenly, in a way that you didn't like. “ _i'm_ better than that?” he said, voice equal parts menacing and self-deprecating. “i thought this was the timeline where i'd told you about all those kids i murdered.”

 

And just like that. A chill down your spine.

 

Sans' next laugh sounded even more forced than the last one. And Chara was—

 

Like in your nightmares, Chara had gone eerily quiet.

 

“look, i get that you have this silly crush on me,” Sans told you, voice cold with a hint of cruelty, causing your body to freeze and your mind to start racing. “that you think you love me, or whatever, so you've had me idealized in your little childish head. but, kid— _i'm not like that_. i'll _never be good_ , i'm _manipulative_ , i'm _selfish_... i'm...”

 

You didn't like the way he was looking at you. You tried to pull yourself away but _he held you there_.

 

“i'm... i'm wrong a little too often. i take... a little too much pleasure in other people's pain, when i inflict it...” His gaze to your neck.

 

You no longer felt safe. “Let _go_ of me.”

 

He just ignored you and kept going, holding you firmly enough that it had started to hurt. “and kid, it wouldn't really hurt you if you took a cue from me and started being _at least a little bit selfish_ too. but until you do, I can be selfish enough for the both of us.”

 

You tried to push yourself away with all of your strength and then he just let _go_ of you, making you trip and fall on the ground in an undignified manner. Your face flushed and, when you looked up to him, he was looking down rather smugly at you.

 

You felt humiliated.

 

There was a flash of something in Sans' face, like embarrassment or guilt, and then he sighed. He extended a hand toward you.

 

You took it. You didn't know why. It felt the closest thing to an apology as he helped you up.

 

And when he next spoke, he sounded defeated. “ _don't_ go to asgore, kid. _don't_ make me kill him. i will, if he fights you. you and pap...” he sighed, and for all the threats that he spoke he sounded like he was pleading. “you mean the world to me now, you're more important than us getting out. _please_ understand that.”

 

He sounded frustrated and so were you. But you would be lying to him if you didn't admit to the both of you, “Sometimes, I don't think it's up to me.”

 

Sometimes, you felt you were _meant_ to fall here.

 

Sans wasn't having it. “ _make_ it up to you. i'll do genocide.”

 

(“ _He's a murderer. Did you have any doubt?_ ”)

 

Your heart hurt. _He's not..._

 

“i don't want to. i _really_ don't. but i'll do it, if I have to.” He made you gasp when he pulled you to him again and did entirely the opposite thing you were expecting him to.

 

Sans moved his hand up your back, along with a wave of magic. It felt... nice. You didn't want it to feel nice.

 

He was _talking about killing everyone_. You had to talk him out thinking of himself like he was...

 

He'd told you he'd killed before but Sans wasn't his past mistakes and he sounded _so miserable_...

 

“please just be selfish,” he pleaded. “stay with us.”

 

His hand and his magic on you and you felt good and didn't want it to but you “Sans, I—”

 

traveling up and down to the small of your back and a tingling, pleasant feeling igniting all of your nerve endings and just—

 

“let's not fight, kiddo. i'm _bone tired_ ,” he joked, but something his voice had changed. He was looking _at you_ and “wanna go to bed?”

 

Alarm bells in your head and you didn't even know what they were for and he still took you.

 


	21. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. 
> 
> Ugh.

 

It was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly he was on top of you.

 

~~he was h e a v y~~

 

There was something ~~scary~~ urgent, desperate and needy in the way that he was ~~pinning you down~~

 

touching you ~~holding you down~~

 

kissing you everywhere ~~damp~~

 

using his magic ~~the rocks on your back~~

 

~~were sharp~~

 

“you want to do this, right?”

 

His tongue against your ear and... (what...?)

 

It felt good. A sound escaped you. And he seemed to like it, he—

 

Hand _just under your shirt_ and magic and nerve endings on fire and you were afraid you needed _more more_ your heart was racing Sans was on top of you he wasn't supposed to

 

Chara was quiet ~~Chara with eyes shut~~ ~~anywhere but here~~ ~~anyone but him~~ ~~Chara was c r y i n g~~

 

_Mmmh..._

 

(Where was the blood?) It stung. Something stung.

 

He kissed the skin _just_ under your ear and his hands moved up your torso and it felt _so so nice_ and “we've done this before?”

 

Was he okay?

 

“Um—” Well, something like it, less ~~scary~~ than this. “Yes? Yesterday. You don't remember?” _Did_ you?

 

The breath he let out when he laughed tickled your ear and felt so intimate you were convinced you were—

 

“it feels like _forever_ ago to me.”

 

You were starting to be something. Whatever it was, the two of you. You didn't want to screw this up...

 

You liked him _so much_.

 

( _“_ _ **I**_ _don't.”_ Helpless.) And how much of this was Chara not wanting to be there and how much of this was you wanting them to g o a w a y.

 

He showered you in kisses. Affection. Tingling energy. Your heart was racing, but you ignored it. Don't screw this up. Show him you're old enough. Don't make him hate you.

 

It felt nice...

 

Started freaking out because were _you_ supposed to do something?

 

“i missed this.” Magic that felt so, so nice against your skin and he was riding your shirt up, but you didn't care. “have i kissed you?”

 

P a n i c .

 

“No!!”

 

He laughed and no, _no_ , of course he hadn't. You'd never kissed anyone before. (Had you?)

 

“wanna try it?” His voice was slightly rough.

 

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat. And you couldn't even believe that he was _asking_ you.

 

Sans was looking at you with a cocky grin. Something in his eyes looked teasing, confident— Very, _very_ attractive and it was making your heart flutter and—

 

He stuck a blue tongue out at you, face just inches away from yours. You felt your cheeks burn with... Something. You weren't sure if you were embarrassed or excited or— “curious?”

 

“No, _thank you_ ,” you refused before you even knew what he was doing, so sure that this was another dumb joke. Sans had never taken your stupid crush seriously. He had teased you, and he had joked about it...

 

And it wasn't very funny. But...

 

There had been...

 

You had a nightmare, sometimes...

 

“We've never really kissed...” You'd been twelve. Kissing just outside waterfall. You'd been _twelve_. There was no way... “Have we?”

 

The cockiness in his grin faded slightly but “of _course not_ , kiddo.”

 

Patronizing and dismissive and frankly discouraging but his hands were moving _up, up_...

 

His hands paused just on your bra. Your stomach was bare, shirt lifted exposing you to cool air. And he looked down at you, looked almost _through_ you as if he was thinking...

 

“i wouldn't exactly be opposed to the idea, though, you know.” (Your breath in your throat.)

 

“...of kissing you. _just this once_ , if you're curious.” He looked every bit as if _he_ was the one who was really curious.

 

Should you let him?

 

“have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asked you, and for some reason you were slightly afraid to admit that you hadn't. “wanna try?”

 

And it wasn't like you didn't want to kiss Sans, but a part of you was afraid of him thinking he was some sort of joke and you didn't want your first kiss to—

 

“Um—I'd rather not...” To mean nothing to him. You wanted it to be special. You wanted it to be with _him_ but you wanted it to be special.

 

And you could wait. You could wait until he liked you. Until he realized how much you really loved him and gave you a chance and—

 

You wondered just what it would feel like to kiss Sans.

 

“i won't tell anyone.”

 

You looked down to his mouth without realizing. He didn't have lips. How would he...

 

He closed the short distance between you in just a split of a second and with just a quick, tentative peck he _k i s s e d you_.

 

_Sans **kissed** you!!!_

 

And— _And oh my god!!!_ Your heart was bursting out of your chest and your entire being was swooning and

 

He had kissed you! Sans had _kissed_ you! Sans had—!!!

 

“just like that.” Oh my god!!! “no big deal.” What!? Yes! Yes it was!!! “of course, it might feel different if you ever kiss someone with actual lips.” No, not anyone else, you never wanted to kiss _anyone_ else...

 

“I can't believe you just did that,” you told him in disbelief, still feeling _giddy_ and _excited_ and _hopeful_.

 

“i can do many things,” Sans told you, grinning. And Sans always grinned, by now you were able to tell between the different ways he'd smile, but...

 

You weren't exactly sure about this one. “better learn them from me, right? i can teach you.” His eyes wandered back to your mouth.

 

He looked...

 

“have you ever had another person's tongue in your mouth, kiddo?” Tempted.

 

~~**nightmare** ~~

 

“E _, gross!_ Of course not! That sounds _so_ disgusting.” ~~had felt so disgusting.~~

 

Sans laughed, making you feel like you had just told him you were afraid of cooties. “you're so inexperienced. it actually feels pretty good.” He stuck his tongue out at you again, blue and semitransparent and softly glowing with an energy you had grown to identify as pure magic. How was he doing that? Shaping his magic like— “i can show you. wanna try?”

 

And your heart almost sank when you realized none of this actually meant anything to him.

 

It was just something to pass the time. Kissing you, touching you... You wondered if all adults were like that, and if Sans really was so clueless that he thought you wouldn't mind doing this kind of thing with him—things that _definitely felt good_ —just because you two were friends.

 

Maybe he was just treating you like an adult and you wanted to let him. But you wanted this to mean _something_ and Sans...

 

“I'd really rather not.”

 

You could wait until he knew that you were doing this because you loved him and not just because you two were friends.

 

Something seemed to spark Sans' interest, and he asked you “what _would_ you rather do?”

 

“Um— _what_?”

 

“what would you want me to do? i can _show_ you— _give_ you— _teach_ you—anything,” he told you, voice lowering into a rough whisper, and he moved a hand just up your back, pulling you closer to him. You felt the tingling sensation of magic and his hand on your navel, the sensation of more skin being exposed to air as Sans continued lifting your shirt, and what was he doing, what was he offering—

 

Sans kept going before you even began to debate if you should stop him, moving his face to plant a flutter of kisses on your neck, hands on your body, magic on skin, and— “anything you want, kiddo. just ask for it. go on. _be selfish_.”

 

You tried to push him away. Your eyes met his. And he— He didn't look like himself.

 

His grip on you tightened. Your heart started racing.

 

But this wasn't what you wanted and—

 

“I don't want anything,” and you didn't. You really, really didn't. You wanted nothing from Sans. Just him.

 

He didn't believe you. And maybe—

 

“everybody wants _something_ , kid. Just ask me, i will give it to you.”

 

Maybe...

 

You wanted nothing from him but for him to know that you loved him and _feel_ it.

 

That wasn't going to change. You felt suddenly determined. And you gathered up your courage, and what little boldness you possessed, because— “ _You_. I want _you_.”

 

You'd often seen how little he thought of himself but he needed to know that he was enough.

 

Your eyes focused on his. His eye sockets widened slightly. And maybe you were being— You started second-guessing yourself. You were just a stupid kid. He probably didn't...

 

But you meant it. You really, really meant it.

 

And “Just you.” Nothing else. And he was amazing enough that you'd take whatever he gave to you. And just having Sans as a friend was enough.

 

He didn't _need_ to be anything different. But he had to know...

 

You loved him. No matter what he was, or what he'd done, because as much as he seemed to think he was his mistakes he was also kind to you, and considerate, and _funny_ and caring and—

 

A small, bewildered chuckle from him. Teasing you like always, like all you had was this stupid crush.

 

But “you already _have_ me, kiddo. right here in snowdin.”

 

…

 

Wait.

 

He'd kissed you. He'd been _touching_ you. And oh my _god_...

 

“Are you really _doing all of this_ just to get me to stay in Snowdin?”

 

Hands and magic down your back and you couldn't believe it, that's exactly what this was. You tried to move away; you were _so frustrated. You’d_ thought this was going to _go somewhere_ —

 

(Go _where_ , exactly?)

 

“you can't really blame me for wanting you to stay here, kiddo,” he told you, and he was staring to sound frustrated himself when he told you. “asgore _will kill you_. if you even _make it_ to asgore.”

 

But he was—

 

You'd had enough nightmares of him torturing you that you knew how much this made him a hypocrite.

 

“Does it really matter if I die?” you asked him, getting progressively angrier the more you thought of his stupid bones, his gaster blasters, _his hand pressing your throat_ , the laughter when you screamed, you weren't an idiot, you knew what those dreams meant, _you knew what he'd done_ and you were so angry that— “Doesn't the timeline just _Reset?_ ” Sarcasm from you, and a smart mouth. He _hated_ that.

 

His hands on your hips and he pulled you towards him and a flash of blue magic not on you, but _through_ you.

 

White in your vision. Your very soul felt ignited. You felt like you wanted him, you needed this, needed him, he felt so good— Noise left your mouth and you bit your lower lip and—

 

What had just happened. You felt dirty. Helpless. You wanted him.

 

Pretended not to feel it. Your face flushed. Your eyes stung. And you wouldn't cry, you were still angry, but now there was embarrassment, and shame—He couldn't know how you felt.

 

“Besides,” you heard yourself say. You wanted to cry. This was humiliating. Took a deep breath and “ _what do you care_?” He didn't care. He couldn't care less if you died. “You've probably killed me more times than I can _count_.”

 

And you hoped he didn't hear the bitterness in your accusation and the tears you were choking back because of it.

 

Sans didn't seem to care. His grip tightened around you, pulling you more firmly to him, your—

 

legs—

 

were almost wrapped around him.

 

He was on top of you. Pulling you towards him. Pressing himself _against you_ and—

 

“good point, and yet here you are again _messing around in the bed of your killer, kid_.” The shame you felt was immediate, and he might as well have called you a whore. “i guess that really _should_ call your judgment into question since you're _clearly so obsessed with me_.”

 

You tried to push him off of you and failed so miserably that you wish you hadn't. You were on the verge of tears, now, covered in shame—he didn't have to be such a jerk about it, he didn't have to sound so demeaning and hurtful and— “I'm not _obsessed with you!_ ” You almost sobbed.

 

Sans actually _laughed_ and you didn't feel safe with him being like this. He always laughed—always liked when he hurt you. Your heart was pounding. Your ears started ringing. He was still _on top of you_ and the bed felt _rough_ and you wanted to _scream_ and— “ _puh_ -lease, kiddo. like i haven't noticed how you try to spend _every waking moment of your day with me_. not to mention at night, _you sleep on_ _ **my**_ _bed_.”

 

He was growling, now. Voice rough and possessive in a way that felt painfully familiar yet you couldn't quite place. Alarm bells were ringing and the entire room felt too humid. Air damp. The sound of water falling. The scent of your blood.

 

You didn't like this.

 

You lashed out. “You're such a hypocrite! If you had such a problem with it, you wouldn't keep inviting me to spend time with you and maybe I'd _finally be over you_ already!” You hadn't meant that. You wished you had. You wished you had the courage to tell him off some more. To scream at him. To ask him why he was like that, why he liked hurting you, was it because he was stronger than you, and you just deserved it?

 

Maybe he was sick of you and didn't know how else to make you leave.

 

There was a moment of true fear, and a strong anxiety when he looked at you for the first time not in a nightmare with an emotion too close to hate in his eyes.

 

“ _god_ you are _such a little brat_.”

 

Disdain.

 

He felt disdain at you.

 

And he was just going to be yet another person who left you. You didn't care anymore. You told yourself you didn't care. And you wanted to cry and to scream and to just—

 

Just _kill yourself already_ —

 

But if Sans was going to leave then you'd just burn all your bridges. _Nobody would miss you_. If everyone who met you just got sick of you, then _fine_ —

 

 _Fine_. Argue with him, then. Show him how unwanted you could be.

 

“I'm not a brat, I am _not_ a kid! I'm almost fourteen.” And you were old enough to be almost an adult. You were so sick of this stupid argument between you.

 

You were not...

 

Mocking laughter, hateful and bitter. “you're _nothing but a child_.”

 

You'd be _eighteen in almost four years_ and you—

 

“I am _not_ —” he always _babied_ you. You were sick of it. You weren't eleven anymore, you were more than old enough, and you were sick of not being let on hikes on your own and sick of Sans overprotecting you and just sick, so sick of— “ _Stop always acting like I'm some little kid!_ ”

 

You tried to push him off again, _hard_ , with all of your strength. Sans wasn't expecting it. He stumbled back. But then he pinned your wrists down on the bed, he looked _furious_ , he—

 

You felt your entire body freeze over in fear.

 

You'd gone too far.

 

Sans had never looked _this angry at you_ when you weren't sleeping.

 

He didn't speak for a long moment. He was so furious you could _hear_ how hard it was for him to not lash out at you. His grip around your wrists was painfully tight. His breaths were too deep, out of control and erratic.

 

He looked down at you, down to your mouth and your neck and your—

 

“ _fine_.”

 

Your skin felt covered by a thousand pinpricks. Goosebumps, fear...

 

“ _fine_ ,” he repeated, voice deceptively quiet with a fury behind it that you didn't like. “you're not a kid? _let's have sex_ , then, since you _so badly want to be treated like an adult._ ”

 

Heart pounding in your chest so hard that it would break and a ringing in your ears and “Wh- _what?_ ”

 

He didn't look at you. He had to be joking. But there was something in the way that his gaze stayed firmly on your lips, how his grip on your wrists tightened even more and his body shifted slightly towards you—

 

“let's have sex, _kiddo_ ,” voice mocking but _serious_. “you're not a child? prove it.”

 

And he was bluffing. He _had_ to be.

 

But then he looked at you like he was victorious.

 

Completely superior to you. You were a child.

 

You _weren't_. He'd _kissed_ you. You could do more, you'd prove it— “ _Fine!_ ”

 

There was a split second where you thought you had won because of the baffled incredulity on his face. But then his grip on you eased slightly, his body moved closer,

 

He looked _longing_ and _wanting_ and something in you snapped as you felt the blood drain from your body.

 

You were _t r a p p e d_ .

 

Sans was heavy.

 

Sans was heavy and so much older and you didn't know what to expect but you knew you weren't ready.

 

You flinched when his grip on you once again tightened. He seemed to notice—moved your hands above your head rather roughly. And there was a sense of urgency with which he—

 

He moved his hand d o w n to y o u r p a n t s and **u n z i p p e d t h e m**.

 

Your blood ran cold.

 

His hand touched your underwear.

 

Sans started sounding like he was telling you all of your sins and exactly how he would punish you.

 

“so you want me to _fuck you_ , then, _you little slut?_ ” His voice was rough, aggressive and intimidating. It did a number on you that you didn't quite understand. “ _do you know what you're asking?_ ”

 

You couldn't talk. Your heart pounded so furiously.

 

He didn't _need_ you to talk.

 

He brushed his fingers against a part of you that he shouldn't touch. When you heard yourself whimpering, you were horrified to find that you liked it.

 

It felt good.

 

You _hated_ yourself.

 

Sans moved closer to you. Pressed his teeth against your neck.

 

They were sharp. You flinched away and held your breath.

 

Closed your eyes.

 

You were scared.

 

He was your friend, just— Just **s t o p i t** —

 

You felt him move. Breathe in your scent. Nose cavity close to your skin as he moved his face up, up, up your neck and to your ear where there was a sensitive part of you that—

 

He seemed to have it memorized. Have your body memorized. There was a brief moment where you could have sworn he licked you before he bit your earlobe and he—

 

A small moan that didn't come from you. His fingers once again on you. And he was touching you, gentle circles, moving his fingers against a _very sensitive part of you_ through the _thin layer_ of your panties and—

 

He left his fingers there as he told you “ _i don't fuck little girls_.”

 

And he withdrew. As if whatever this was had been nothing to him.

 

The pain you felt...

 

Rejection. Shame.

 

was indescribable.

 

_You..._

 

 

 

You never were the same after _this_.

 

 

 


	22. Nothing

  
_Eight_. Mom was late again. The bus driver had to drive you back to school. You waited. You were the only one left waiting. By yourself, and lonely. Again.

 

Almost six when she came in running and "Frisk! Honey, I am _so, so sorry_! I got caught up at work..."

 

And work. Of course it was work. Poor mom. She looked so tired. 

 

She worked _so hard_ and there was nothing you could do to help.

 

Holding back your own tears, you smiled. Acted like you were just happy to see her because you _were_. And it hadn't been a big deal at all. At least she'd showed up. And when she drove you back home and you listened to her talk about her day, it was like nothing had even happened.

 

 

 

  
_Nine_. You hated recess.

 

It wasn't exactly like you were a model student. Math was hard and, at anything else, you were at best average. But anything was better than recess.

 

An hour alone _every day_  during school days and you didn't have friends and just killed time hiding away and pretending not to notice the groups that formed around you.

 

Some days were easier than others. Often, you pretended that you didn't feel alone. Acted like you had friends back home who didn't think you were awkward. Imagined scenarios, watched the clouds passing by, read stories, drew.

 

When the bell rang at the end of the hour, it was easy to forget.

 

Your heart still hurt. It stung to feel so rejected. But you didn't want to cry and make it worse. 

 

You often pretended... It had been a good day.

 

And at the end of the day, it was like nothing had happened.

 

 

 

  
_Ten_. Dad needing someone at the campfire.

 

"I need a little help, here." Your heart _soared_ at the chance. Time with dad. You volunteered almost immediately.

 

One of his kids did, too.

 

And maybe it was just that you hadn't been heard. You tried to shrug it off. They started the fire without you.

 

You didn't want to cause a scene. Nobody here had even wanted you in this camping trip in the first place.

 

You weren't a part of this.

 

~~(Mom hadn't wanted you home with her, either.)~~

 

You held back tears and you cried alone and by the next morning it was like nothing had happened.

 

 

 

  
_Eleven_. Unbelievably, your new mom attacked you.

 

You hadn't been expecting it. You'd just wanted to get out. There was something pulling you forward, like a voice that you couldn't quite hear but feel, urging you to move on. And it was time to go.

 

Toriel burned you more than once. It hurt. The pain was worse inside your chest than it was on your flesh.

 

When she finally let you go and you exited the Ruins, you took a deep breath.

 

Picked up the phone.

 

You didn't want things to end this way. She had been so kind to you for almost a whole year.

 

The phone rang and when she picked up, you pretended like the fight between you was nothing. And it was like nothing had happened.

 

 

 

  
_Twelve_. Alone by the lake. Waiting for Sans and Papyrus to return from work.

 

Just a few more hours.

 

Monsterkid walked by, hanging out with a group of friends. They were the group of kids who considered you a weird monster. They didn't like you very much.

Monsterkid caught you looking at him.

And then proceeded to pretended not to have even seen you.

The rejection stung. You didn't know if you should stay at the lake and pretend not to have noticed them or if it would be less awkward to just go back to waiting at Grillby's.

You felt suddenly both unwelcome and uncomfortable.

You and MK were kind of friends, though. 

 

The next time you saw him, you avoided a confrontation and just pretended that nothing had happened.

 

 

 

  
_Thirteen_.

 

"i don't know what came over me." He felt really bad.

 

But you'd let Sans touch you. You'd let Sans _kiss_ you. You'd let Sans...

 

"i'm sorry i touched you like that. that was way outta line."

 

He had made you feel _so, so dirty_ with his hand under your pants and

 

"i won't do it again. please... i'm so sorry."

 

You felt sick. Breathing hurt. You had never felt _this sick_.

 

"this shouldn't have happened. what i just did..."

 

What was _wrong_ with you? Why had you let him do that? Why had you encouraged him like that, why had you...

 

"there are ways we can prevent it, you know?"

 

_P   a   n   i   c   ._

 

Whatever it was, you'd done it. Sans wanted to  l e a v e . Wanted nothing to do with you.

 

Your heart in your throat. Sans was your best friend. Your first friend. 

 

_No no he couldn't leave just_

 

  
**Anything**. You'd do _anything_. This didn't matter. This hadn't mattered. He'd touched you he'd touched you but it didn't matter he'd just been mad _you'd_ made him mad and he was sorry and he was remorseful and he was

 

All you had. Literally all you had. He was the only person who had ever been there for you, no matter what, and you

 

You swallowed your fear and your pain and your shame and did the only thing you knew you could do.

 

Calmed Sans down. Reassured him. You smiled. You joked.

 

A knot in your throat. Dirt in your chest. Slime on your skin. Tar in your lungs.

 

And you kind of... You kind of wanted to die. You felt dirty. And wrong. ~~And betrayed.~~  


 

But as long as you acted (" _Hi, Sans!_ I missed you!  It’s  _snow nice_  to see your  _puntastically_  caring self is back.”)

 

You could pretend and he would stay with you and was like nothing had ever happened.


	23. After

Finding Papyrus when you walked into the kitchen was like a breath of fresh air.

 

He was so loud, but friendly. “HUMAN! YOU'VE COME BACK!! AND JUST IN TIME TO TRY MY NEW PASTA DISH! YOU KNOW, I WAS CONCERNED BY HOW QUICKLY YOU DISAPPEARED EARLIER. AND NOW YOU'RE BACK AND I DIDN'T EVEN HEAR THE DOOR OPEN! HOW DID YOU MANAGE THAT?”

 

You smiled. Papyrus was loud enough and warm enough to drown out all of the leftover awkwardness between you and Sans. And he was being so kind, as always— It was suddenly easier to pretend that nothing had happened in Sans' room earlier.

 

Nothing had happened between Sans and you.

 

“Um— We just ran really fast?” you said. You knew Sans well enough to know he kept most of his magic hidden from Papyrus, as well as why he did. Despite the fact that Sans was older, Papyrus _really_ liked envisioning himself as the stronger, more capable brother, and Sans would do anything for him. “Sorry we left without saying goodbye, Papyrus.”

 

“NO REASON TO APOLOGIZE,” Papyrus said with an air of forgiveness. Once again, you marveled at how friendly and nonthreatening Papyrus could be towards you despite the fact that he was significantly taller than you and always wore battle armor. “I ASSUMED YOU DIDN'T WANT TO DISTRACT ME FROM MY IMPORTANT MEETING WITH UNDYNE.”

 

You half expected Sans to throw a fish-related joke at that and when he didn't, and you looked at him, Sans didn't seem quite _there_.

 

Papyrus seemed oblivious. “DID YOU HAVE A DECENT TIME AT HOTLAND WITH MY BROTHER, HUMAN? I AM STILL SORRY I COULD NOT GO.”

 

You couldn't help yourself. You worried over Sans. You had never seen him looking so uncomfortable around his brother; what was going on?

 

“It was great!” you heard yourself say, trying to keep your attention on Papyrus and a cheerful voice. You stole another quick glance at Sans and touched his arm trying to check in on him. _Are you okay?_

 

Sans' eye sockets widened slightly at your touch. He seemed surprised that you had even noticed something was bothering him. But there was something else in his expression, something off that worried you—

 

You'd known Sans for a long time now. You had crushed on him for what felt like _ages_. And you had gotten to see each and every one of his moods, his gestures, his changing expressions...

 

The lights in his eyes had flickered. Their usual brightness had dimmed slightly. And you knew what you had to do pretty much immediately.

 

“I took some pictures,” you told Pap, mustering up determination and courage and letting go of Sans' arm, for the moment. You didn't exactly feel up for being alone with Sans so soon after... he...

 

But he needed you. And he was your best friend. You kept talking to Papyrus, “There was a puzzle there! Do you want to look at them, later?”

 

You noticed Sans perking up by the corner of your eye as he looked at you.

 

Papyrus gushed, unsurprisingly. “WOWIE!! A NEW PUZZLE!”—he was such an adorable nerd, in a different way than Sans was—“YES, I LOVE LOOKING AT NEW PUZZLES!!!! BUT WHY CAN'T I SEE THE PICTURES NOW?”

 

Um—

 

Because you needed to show Sans that you cared about him. “Sans and I wanted to go out into the cold again,” you said. And it was even kind of true? You still felt weird, and slightly uncomfortable, and maybe the chilly air would help get this tar and this slime out of your chest and—

 

 ~~skin. You felt so gross.~~ “It was _ridiculously hot_ in Hotland. Do you mind if we try your pasta later? We won't be out for long.”

 

Papyrus understood. Ever the optimist, he even seemed excited. “OF COURSE YOU CAN TRY MY DELICIOUS PASTA LATER! THAT ONLY GIVES ME TIME TO ADD THE FINISHING TOUCHES TO THIS WONDERFUL DISH! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL GREATLY SURPRISE YOU WITH THE GREAT MEAL I HAVE PREPARED!! YOU WILL BE SURPRISED, BROTHER AND HUMAN! NYEH HEH HEH!!!”

 

And, okay, Pap's happy energy was both refreshing and a little bit contagious. You couldn't help but grin. Your determination to help Sans increased. And you felt somewhat recharged and hopeful—

 

This wouldn't take long. Sans needed you. And if something was wrong, he'd talk to you. You knew that he would.

 

You thanked Papyrus as you grabbed Sans' hand and pulled him towards the door. You didn't know if he was too lazy to stop you or if he simply trusted you, but he gave no resistance.

 

You walked in silence for a while, hand in hand, and you flushed when you noticed how intimate the gesture felt. Sans didn't seem to mind, though.

 

You selfishly decided to not let go of him. For now, just let yourself enjoy the feeling of your hand holding his. And your heart was racing and there were butterflies fluttering through you and...

 

When you made it to the lake, the entire clearing was empty. It was getting much darker out; the thick layer of crystals that reflected and intensified the scarce rays of light reaching down from overground catching even less sunlight than before. And this was the way that monsters knew that dusk was near.

 

Sans had taught you this. He had taught you so much about life among monsters. Toriel, too.

 

You guided Sans towards your favorite spot under the trees and sat there. Running out of excuse to hold his hand, you moved to let go of Sans.

 

And then his hand squeezed yours tighter, casually interlocking his fingers with yours in a way that made your face feel hot. And oh my gosh... This was... Your heart was pounding.

 

“So what's up?” you asked him, stubbornly ignoring the heavy heartbeats in your chest. There was a sharp, painful moment when your excitement mixed with a flash of dread as you remembered ~~_just where the hand you were holding had been before, how it had felt against you, how_~~

 

You made it a point to focus on what you were doing. Sans had been sorry. Nothing had happened.

 

(Something that sounded like a frustrated, desperate groan reverberated in your head.)

 

You ignored that, too, and continued. “You didn't look too happy to see Papyrus there. It was... bizarrely unlike you. Did something happen between you two?”

 

Sans shook his head.

 

(And  _“Maybe he's just feeling bad about_ _ **not**_ _**raping**_ _us. Do you even know how gross that was, Frisk?”_ )

 

“it was nothing, kiddo. just been a while since i'd had to see papyrus after a RESET.”

 

( _“He killed us,"_ Chara told you. _"He killed us and he put his gross, slimy magic on us and he **kissed** us and he **touched** us and **he calls you '**_ ** _kiddo_ _'._** )

 

You didn't know how you didn't scream when you next spoke, desperately trying to cover Chara's voice with your own. “Care to elaborate?”

 

(A sharp, indignant wail.)

 

Sans let out an empty laugh as you focused on him. Moved your hand to your lap and focused on it. And “it was... as depressing as always, i guess,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur as he spoke. “you have no idea what it is like. seeing everyone you care about just forget. they become so repetitive and predictable”—a half-hearted snort, and _he was confiding in you,_ trusting you—“but i guess this time it was my own fault.”

 

~~A flash of panic and he'd killed you.~~

 

His eyes met yours. Something passed between you. And you didn't know how you felt; the weight of his trust on you felt at once uplifting and heavy.

 

“everyone just seems to forget and then the world just repeats,” he told you. “everyone but you, kiddo.”

 

You had a moment where you felt guiltily and uncomfortably inadequate. “I forget, too.”

 

Sans shook his head at you. “you _remember_. you just don't know you do.” There was a softness in his voice along with a hopefulness that left you weak. “but you're so close to being aware of it, kiddo. that little panic attack you had in hotland—”

 

A spike of anxiety bubbling up inside you at the mere _mention_ of Hotland and you realized how much you never wanted to experience that again.

 

Sans didn't notice it. He just kept rambling. And he was starting to sound a bit excited as he spoke, like he did when he was talking to you about stars or about his brother or Grillby's. “you were _remembering_ something, then. not consciously but the feelings were still there. I went through the same thing before i started holding on to conscious memories. it's— i'm sorry, i know it was awful for you but it was exciting for me to see. you were remembering something _i did_ —” The smile he had been carrying then faltered, and some of the excitement died off in his voice. He held your hand a little tighter. “something... that... i'm very sorry that i did...”

 

Your hand gently squeezed him back and what were you doing. He didn't look at you, but smiled at your hand in a way that left you weak at the knees. And Sans continued, “but your mind can't quite make out what the memory was. so your body had trouble processing the sudden emotion.”

 

“Well, it _really sucked_ ,” you admitted. You weren't exactly excited about the prospect of remembering things if you were always going to feel like _this_.

 

“i know,” Sans told you. “i'm sorry. it will get worse,” he warned you, and you cringed at the thought. Sans started playing with your hand, then, moving to hold it with both of his and running his fingers ever so softly against your skin. His touch was firm yet delicate, smooth and solid all at once. And he'd held your hands like this before—moving his phalanges against your skin, curiosity and almost reverence, but after what you two had done today it—

 

It felt nice, to go back to this. Just holding hands. Being there for each other.

 

“but then we'll _both remember_ ,” Sans continued, excited and hopeful once more. “we'll have each other.”

 

You almost laughed when he said that. Bumped your shoulder against his playfully. And did he really not see it? For such a smart guy, he _had_ to be blind... Because to you, it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We already _have_ each other, you dolt. You're not alone.”

 

Playful laughter. Interlaced fingers. Sans moving his face to rest against your shoulder and an affectionate “buddies forever?”

 

You fought back a blush. “Of course! Best friends forever.”

 

And at least you'd have that from him.

 

But...

 

Frisk, you shouldn't ask. You really shouldn't ask. And you knew what he had told you, you knew how to read between the lines. But still a part of you wanted to hear you were wrong about it, and you couldn't help yourself when you asked. “But Sans—what did you _do_?”

 

And _please lie_. Please lie. Please.

 

The light atmosphere around you faded along with the light. It was almost completely dark now. And you realized, a little too late now, that you were cold. Sans shifted next to you. The fur of his coat was warm and you moved closer to it.

 

A sigh, remorseful and sad. “i RESET the timeline today.”

 

And you _shouldn't_ have asked.

 

You tried, and you failed, to find the right set of magic words you could say that might erase this thing between you.

 

Sans sounded miserable. Had probably not wanted to kill you. And yet you had probably forced him to, _again_ , giving Chara control of you and condemning him to be the only person left remembering a dead timeline.

 

~~But in your nightmares, he had been vicious.~~

 

~~Which Sans was the real one?~~

 

You pushed... Certain thoughts away.

 

After a while, Sans started playing with your hand again. Began massaging a faint trace of warm, buzzing magic into your skin. And the magic seemed to slowly expand throughout your body, warming you up, making you feel things— It was like being immersed in a warm bubble bath, almost, and it was _Sans_ —

 

Sans doing this to you. Not to threaten you. Not to scare you. Just absentmindedly rubbing magic into your skin, soft and light and affectionate.

 

It was almost cute. You wanted to kiss him.

 

His voice was shy. “do you want to just go back?”

 

You leaned in before your common sense stopped you and quickly kissed his cheekbone. His face was warm, though not as warm as his magic, and it left you feeling—

 

 _Happy_. Excited. Close.

 

It was just the two of you, here.

 

(You caught Sans checking.)

 

And “When you're ready,” you told him. Because Sans was always patient with you. You could be patient for him.

 

He let out a deep breath. You'd never figured out how. And he murmured a grateful “thanks, frisk.”

 

It was dark out, now. So dark.

 

The dim light of the night sky was almost nonexistent underground.

 

But Sans was there and he kept you warm. Sat right next to you, bodies touching. Made you blush.

 

He wrapped an arm around you when it got so cold that his magic wasn't enough to warm you and you started shivering. Pulled you close to him. Moved a hand to touch your cheek. Your heart raced.

 

And you didn't know how long you stayed there but you cuddled and you made up and you

 

Sans shifted before hesitantly kissing your cheek in the dark, after a while. Over and over. Moved his face to kiss the side of your neck. Kissed you  _just outside_ the edge of your mouth.

 

You spent a long time internally debating _what was wrong with you_ and if you could really be okay with the two of you doing this after you'd—

 

His thumb brushed your lips.

 

The faint outline of him staring at you, dim pupils acting like a weak light.

 

And his face was incredibly close to yours. You felt his warm breath against your lips. And maybe your heart was racing, or maybe you were frozen in place. You couldn't breathe. There was a knot in your throat.

 

Guilt. Slime. _Hope_.

 

And “ _frisk_...” He ran his thumb across your lips and sounded unsure about something.

 

You felt his hand move from your lips and brush your cheek until it rested there and leaned...

 

His voice was soft and hesitant and you barely heard it as he leaned _a little bit closer_ to you and “can i...”

 

He was going to _kiss you again_.

 

You closed your eyes to let him and leaned in...

 

As soon as you did, there was cold air surrounding you. Sans had backed off.

 

His pupils now shone several feet away from you and he had stood up.

 

And his voice sounded strained. “we should probably go.”

 

You felt a skeletal hand grabbing yours.

 

And with your heart beating loudly, you let Sans guide you home.


	24. Second Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to do with where we are at right now in the Creep universe. This is just a random oneshot that I kept working on every time I was suffering through a painful period.
> 
> Thanks, Frisk and Sans. You really helped me through my cramps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. Still working (SLOWLY working) on Creep and Feather. Because of the, er, nature of the work, I can't really write when I'm around people. And boy, this summer I sure have been around a whole bunch of people. And also very depressed. Sorry. T_T
> 
> Go bug me on Tumblr and I will bug you back: kenyaketchup.tumblr.com

Sans had become a constant in your life by the time you were fourteen.

 

Now that you thought about it, it hadn't taken you long to like him, to associate him with the kind of person you might go to whenever you ran into too much trouble. Sans had a way of acting just friendly enough while awarding you space, the perfect combination of warmth and aloofness that made you feel close enough to almost trust him but didn't make you feel pressured to. He felt safe and familiar even early on, when you weren't sure if he even knew what he was doing. After all, Sans was _clueless_ around kids.

 

But he was still really nice to you.

 

Sans was a friend even before the lingering fears of past Resets vanished. He was the first one you went to: whether for laughs, advice or companionship. He read you like a book, accepting your awkward silences and hesitant shyness and never once forcing you to speak before you were ready. As far as adults went, he was almost someone you could _rely_ on.

 

Then, a few months after moving into Snowdin, you got sick.

 

You still cringe at how infinitely stupid the cause of your sickness had been. You'd been just a kid, but even then you had known better. Still, you had chosen to stay out late the night before, too busy playing in the snow to notice how dark it was getting, having too much fun to even consider the idea of having to stop. You had regretted that choice immensely the following morning, when you'd woken up with a stuffy nose and an itchy throat and an overall feeling of misery.

 

Ugh.

 

You'd been eleven when you first got sick Underground, but you were already used to taking care of yourself. Back at the Surface, sick days had happened often. You just needed medicine, or—barring that—at least some honey for your throat. You lingered in bed for a while, snoozing on and off, before finally making it out of bed early in the afternoon and to the shop.

 

They didn't have medicine. Or honey. The bunny shopkeeper didn't even know what you were asking about, when you handed her the list written in the notebook Sans had given you.

 

You tried not to panic. You were Underground, but even in the Surface sometimes you got sick and didn't have the energy to walk to the store and get supplies. You needed lots of water, then—not ideal, but it would help to keep hydrated—and... and... You missed your mom... She wasn't always there for you, but _sometimes_...

 

You weren't crying. This was the sickness talking. It wasn't the end of the world, but your throat _really_ hurt and...

 

You were on your way back to the Inn when you ran into Sans.

 

You nearly jumped when you saw him, but you shouldn't have been too surprised. Sans had a way of always running into you—even early afternoon, when you knew perfectly well that he should be sleeping at work.

 

“hey, kid. you woke up pretty late today,” he said, lazy smile and lazy rest of him looking like he had just woken up from a long nap. You tensed up for the slightest moment. How did he _know_ how late you'd gotten up today?

 

How did Sans ever know half the things he knew? He seemed perfectly content with remaining a mystery.

 

“not like i'm one to talk.” He yawned almost on cue. “you feeling alright, kiddo?”

 

_(Oh, Frisk. Sick again? I'm so sorry, baby. I can't miss work._

_Do you think you think you can still go to school, honey?)_

 

Sans was probably also incredibly busy.

 

Admitting you were sick would just mean giving Sans unnecessary stress. You could take care of this. So you smiled and nodded. But as always, Sans _saw_ you (how did he _do_ that?), and—

 

“no way, _sunshine_. you definitely look under the _weather_. that's alright. works for me.” And he grabbed your hand. “i could use a day off.”

 

Panic settling in. You thought of Sans and Papyrus, and no, _no_ — You weren't worth the risk, he could get fired if he—

 

A lazy wink. His hand squeezing yours awkwardly. “you can have pap's room while he's out. i know just the shortcut,” and then he pulled. “don't worry, kiddo. i'll take good care of ya.”

 

And you both disappeared.

 

 

 

Things had changed between you and Sans by the time you were twelve. It was like you were best friends, but awkward sometimes. Sans was still awful with kids, while you...

 

You tried not to blush as his hand touched your forehead, hyper aware of the fact that Sans was so close. You had developed a crush on him. Bad. Sometimes, you were paranoid that it was too obvious...

 

“jeez, kid. sick _again?_ how long have you been hiding this for?” he asked you, frowning with worry as he examined you. Sans had run into you again as you left the Inn, fully intent on going about your day despite your fever.

 

Your heart kept fluttering in your chest long after Sans had removed his hand from your forehead. Despite feeling ill, you were stubborn. “I haven't been hiding anything.”

 

Sans rolled his eyes at you, the lights of his eye sockets showing only a hint of annoyance. “sure, kid,” he said sarcastically. “that why you've been avoiding our place? you know, there's only so much pasta that i can eat by myself.”

 

You snorted, then blushed angrily at how stupid your laugh had sounded.

 

Sans winked at you, grinning even more now, then poked your forehead. “i wish you quit hiding when you get sick. every minute that i'm not taking care of you, we both miss out on valuable morning television time.”

 

You quickly shook your head, even when you knew well by now just how useless that was. “ _No_ , Sans, you have to go to work—”

 

You felt his hand wrap around yours and pull you closer to him before you could finish protesting. You lost your balance and fell into his chest.

 

He stiffened, and pulled you off.

 

“Sorry,” you said blushing, suddenly feeling awful by the way his smile briefly faltered. Was it that obvious you liked him. Ugh.

 

Your heart was pounding so fast and you wished you could run and forget this had happened.

 

“uh...” An awkward silence. He cleared his throat, somehow. “ah. i was gonna take you to watch tv, yeah? we can, uh, take a shortcut...”

 

You blinked, and suddenly you were faced with the familiar sight of Sans and Papyrus' living room. It was clear Papyrus had been cleaning that morning. Everything was neat and orderly, down to the carefully arranged stack of sticky notes on top of Sans' sock on the floor.

 

You suppressed a sigh and tried not to roll your eyes at both the skeletons, and went to pick up the sock yourself. You'd known Sans and Papyrus for a little over a year now. You were used to tidying up after Sans in order to keep the peace.

 

You didn't realize that Sans was still holding your hand until he squeezed it, holding you back from your target. It was as if he'd read your mind, almost. “don't,” he told you. “go sit down, kiddo. let me take care of you.”

 

“It's fine. Let me help. I don't want to just be a bother...”

 

“ _frisk_.”

 

He said your name. Voice stern and gently scolding but _he said your name_. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. An avalanche of butterflies and nervous excitement invaded you. And you were _happy_ , Sans _said your name_ —

 

You really liked him.

 

“ _you_ are _never_ a bother, kiddo. ok? go sit down. i'll make that tea you like.”

 

You didn't dare move. You wanted to hug him. And he misread you, because he sighed. “i'll move the sock.”

 

And it was all that you could do to just choke out a small and awkward “Okay.”

 

You were happy. His thumb brushed your hand. Your heart soared in your chest. “good kid.”

 

You let Sans take care of you just this once.

 

 

 

You had a different set of struggles by the time you were thirteen.

 

Your cramps were incredibly painful. This was only your second time having them, but you already _hated_ your lady days. You hadn't felt this awful in months—you'd been kind of hoping this sort of thing would never happen to you again.

 

Wrong. You'd been so wrong. And now your lady days were back with a vengeance, the second time even worse than the first.

 

There was no way that you could hide the pain from Sans. You hid the blood—you'd kept a stash of pads in your backpack ever since your first incident on his bed, too embarrassed by the idea of having to ask someone for help again—but the pain was something else entirely. You couldn't move. You'd spent the day curled up on Sans' bed.

 

Sans was sure you were having some sort of stomach sickness.

 

He'd taken another day off. By now, despite how selfish and guilty you felt, you had started to kind of look forward to him coddling you when you were sick. And he'd made you warm soup. He'd brought you a blanket.

 

You loved Sans. So, so much.

 

“hey.” The sound of him whispering behind you, climbing into bed with you and pulling you close. His bones were so warm. He felt nice. And your heart soared so happily.

 

You curled up into yourself even more when another sharp stab pierced your lower abdomen, filling you with pain. Sans moved even closer to you, pressed firmly against your back, and moved a hand to your stomach.

 

“how can i help you, kiddo?” His breath on your neck. His voice was so low and soothing.

 

You were grateful that your back was turned to him, convinced that otherwise he would see you blushing. You wanted nothing more than to tell him that this alone was perfect, that you were happy to just cuddle with him, that you were just... so, _so_ lucky to have him, you loved him, you...

 

Another cramp. A cry of pain. Sans kissed the back of your head, pressed his hand gently against your stomach, tried to pull you _closer_.

 

“i'm sorry you're sick, sweetheart.” He sounded absolutely miserable.

 

“I'll be fine,” you told him. You knew at that moment it didn't feel like it, but soon the torture should end. “It's okay, Sans. Just... Stay with me? You feel nice.”

 

A flutter of kisses on your hair, your shoulder, the back of your neck. Sans shifting closer to you, as close to you as he could. “kid, i...”

 

Your heart skipped a beat.

 

“i...

 

“i can stay.”

 

You let out the breath you didn't know you'd been holding. And you didn't know just what it was you were expecting him to say.

 

“Thanks, Sans.”

 

You fell asleep before he did and woke up to a sleeping skeleton hugging you close to his chest.

 

 

 

Fourteen was different.

 

You were together. Kind of. Sometimes you kissed. And

 

“ _poor baby_.” Sans fussing over you.

 

You'd gotten your period and Sans didn't know. You were _so grateful_ for your backpack and your habit of hoarding supplies. You had managed to secure a small bottle of unexpired painkillers, and were waiting for the medicine to take effect.

 

You didn't have to go through it every month—something about living Underground seemed to be messing with your system—, but you still _hated_ your period.

 

Sans moved to the bed, leaving the cup of tea he'd brought you on his nightstand. He kissed your forehead, your cheek. A quick peck on the lips. And as worried as he was over you, he also looked happy—

 

He always looked at least a little happy, lately, with his hand more often than not around yours and his mouth on your lips and his arms wrapped around you.

 

“i love you,” he told you, making something in your chest feel warm. You loved him too. You did. “i love you, frisky. so sorry you're sick, baby. i love you. i—”

 

“Sans,” you couldn't help but smile. “I love you too, but _really_. I'll be fine. Thanks for the tea.”

 

“sweetheart,” he kneeled in front of the bed, moving a hand to smooth your messy hair. “i'm just worried. i don't know what's happening to you, kiddo.”

 

You felt your face heat up.

 

“I'm fine,” you managed to choke out. Then took a deep breath, and shyly admitted “I'm just... When I get like this, it's because”—you muttered—“I'm on my period.”

 

His eye sockets widened as he looked at you.

 

“you _get_ those, kiddo?” he asked you, looking for all the world like he had been taken completely by surprise. “but you're so—”

 

He stopped himself abruptly. Something in him faltered. And you could practically _see_ the guilt in him, the anger, the hate he so often directed at himself. “i didn't know,” he admitted quietly. “you're just... you're just a kid, frisky.”  
  
Your hand moved to his. “I'm _fourteen_.”

 

He briefly squeezed your hand, hesitating. “you don't know how young that is.”

 

And you didn't want to fight. You were in no mood to argue about this. You were already in pain, and uncomfortable, and tired. “Can I have my tea, please?”

 

He kissed your forehead. You sat up.

 

Sipped the flower tea. It was your favorite. You still didn't know where Sans kept buying it.

 

And Sans sat next to you, at first quiet. Looked deep in thought, and you pretended not to notice. The sharp stabs inside your abdomen slowly subsided, settling into a dull ache that was almost tolerable.

 

You _hated_ your periods. But Sans made them bearable.

 

“i love you,” he told you.

 

Your heart fluttered.

 

You ended up falling asleep nestled together long after the tea was gone.

 

 

 

Fifteen and you were back on the surface. Woke up, again, to a sharp pain and an uncomfortable quiet. The painkillers had worn off. You were once again suffering.

 

You hated your periods. You _hated_ them.

 

Mind groggy from sleep, you half-expected Sans to come through the door and take care of you.

 

Your slowly woke up. Became more alert, and a pain in your chest. Sans didn't come in, of course he didn't, but the feeling of loss still felt real and it hurt.

 

There were times, such as this, when you still badly missed him.

 

He knew where you were. Why didn't he come. You _knew_ why he didn't, but still you—

 

Your phone buzzed on the floor next to the couch you'd been crashing in, almost as if on cue. You picked it up, hands shaking, and sure enough.

 

12:46 PM ###-###-#### you alright?

 

You stared at the text for the longest moment, unsure whether to answer, fully knowing that you should not. But still...

 

The phone buzzed again.

 

12:51 PM ###-###-#### sorry. i know i shouldn't... you haven't moved in a while. i just

12:54 PM ###-###-#### just wanted to make sure you were alright. please? i love you kiddo

 

Your hands shook. You barely felt your fingers. But still you answered.

 

12:59 PM I'm alright.

 

And you were wanting to tell him that you were in pain and you were wanting to tell him that you hated this and you wanted to tell him just how badly you missed him and how he was and the way he always took care of you when you weren't feeling well.

 

01:05 PM ###-###-#### if you need anything just ask

01:07 PM ###-###-#### i won't hurt you. i miss you

 

You wanted to ask him. The room was so quiet.

 

You felt tired and lonely.

 

You didn't text back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you catch any typos? I haven't really edited this yet but I wanted to post something so people know I'm alive.
> 
> I'll probably just keep working on this during my next monthly. :P


	25. I'm 16 I know everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on Tumblr: kenyaketchup.tumblr.com

You woke up to Sans' skeletal hand on your chest.

 

The sensation sent you into a sudden panic. You froze on the spot, heat radiating uncomfortably from his hand and your face. And your first instinct was to jump, get away, _oh my gosh_ —

 

Your heart was racing. Sans was holding you close against him. And he was asleep, was clearly asleep. And... you...

 

_Thump, thump._

 

You could barely breathe. But this was... _Sans_.

 

You were a nervous wreck but you refused to move. For whatever sick reason, curiosity got the best of you. And _darn it, Frisk_. Darn it. What was wrong with you. Your heart was fluttering wildly in your chest, butterflies in your stomach. You felt almost too scared to breathe, afraid to wake Sans up, but he felt...

 

_Nice_. And a faraway voice, resonating in your head, "Doesn't it feel a little _too_ similar to your nightmare?"

 

Your cheeks burned red hot at that, absolutely mortified at having gotten caught. Chara could sometimes make their unwanted presence known at the most awkward, embarrassing of times. You willed them away. Kind of wanted some privacy here. _Ugh_. Don't ruin this. The bones of Sans' hand felt a little too hard even through your shirt, but...

 

This was nice. Better than the dream. Was that how you had gotten here? You vaguely remembered waking up in a cold sweat still downstairs, the lights out and the tv off and a warm blanket on top of you that hadn't been there when you'd fallen asleep. You remembered groggily heading upstairs, curling up against Sans... Falling asleep.

 

And now here you were.

 

Sans was holding you close to him through his sleep, your back firmly pressed against the ribs of his chest. You felt his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept, despite the lack of lungs. He was snuggled pretty close against you and irradiated warmth. And he'd taken off his coat. You could feel more of him this way. It felt... Weird. But nice. In a weird way.

 

You liked being this close to Sans, and not just because of your crush on him. He made you feel safe, made you feel wanted...

 

There was something about the way that Sans looked at you that made you feel special, like you were the only thing in the world. He cared about you so much and it _showed,_ you could tell by the little things he did and... the big things. He was always there when you needed him. Nobody had ever done that for you before. And the way he held your hand sometimes made you feel warm; whenever he found an excuse to hug you, your chest would flutter.

 

And he'd _kissed you_ yesterday and had been touching you lately in a way that...

 

You'd been starting to think, maybe Sans was starting to fall in love with you, too. Just _maybe_. You didn't dare to think about it much. Because whenever you dared to hope, let your wildest dreams and hopes spring free and your happy heart beat with excitement, you remembered how you were _just_...

 

You were _you_. And Sans was _Sans_. He was so great, so kind and so funny and mature and so _smart_ , everybody liked him. And nobody liked _you_. You were just... You were just Frisk. You had nothing to give, nothing to offer. And you had lucked out to have Sans think of you as worthy enough to be a friend but, let's be real here.

 

_Nobody,_ for as long as you'd been around, nobody had ever wanted _you_.

 

But...

 

But Sans has kissed you. He had kissed you and he'd kind of been a jerk about it, but he'd _kissed_ you. And maybe he'd been about to do it again by the lake. And... and he'd been touching you lately in a way that... Felt really intimate, even if it left you feeling dirty. And—

 

You tried not to let the hope bloom once again in your chest. Sans was touching your boob, but he was asleep. You were being stupid to overthink this. He'd literally told you that he saw you as just a kid. But... But you'd turn fourteen soon, and soon enough you'd be old enough...

 

You wondered what it would feel like, to have Sans call you just _Frisk_. Not _kid._ Not _buddy_ or _kiddo_. Just _Frisk_ , like he sometimes did, just—

 

Sans stirred in his sleep. Pressed his hips closer against you. Then his hand squeezed at your chest, and you could have sworn you felt your own heart stop. Your entire body froze into place. And you were starting to feel... Warm. Your heart recovered, then started racing...

 

Something was really wrong with you. You'd woken up from a dream of Sans having sex with you.

 

_(The memory of cold, wet rock digging sharply into your back and a stinging pain and a heavy weight and building shame along with intense pleasure, delicious pressure tearing you apart—sharp pain—slick blood—get it_ **out** _!! Hurt hurt good pain hurt stop stop—)_

 

"You _know_ what he did," a defeated groan inside your head.

 

You gasped and pushed Sans' hand away. Sat up. Your brain hurt. And Sans was in deep sleep, just sleeping so peacefully next to you. His mouth was slightly parted, he looked so _harmless_... so...

 

He told you he _loved you._ Sometimes. Jokingly. But sometimes a part of you believed him. _You_ believed in him. You loved him. And so you spoke, hushed voice less than a whisper, "He'd never hurt me."

 

An angry hiss, disbelief and the accusation reverberating through your head. "You know what he's _done!_ "

 

~~_(Sans hurting you.)_ ~~

 

You pushed the thought out of your head.

 

"When...” For some reason your voice caught in your throat. You looked at Sans, he didn't stir. “When I wake up, from nightmares about what we've done.... he always says I've never hurt anyone," you countered, a flush of affection for Sans coursing through your chest. "He points out that all the monsters I have nightmares about dusting are still alive. It makes me feel better. _He_ does. And guess what.

 

" _I'm_ still alive, too," you spoke with conviction. "I'm not hurt, not in the slightest. He hasn't hurt me. Not once. He _protects_ me. And I love him. I... I trust him. I'd trust him with my life."

 

With your crappy, crappy life. You'd rather die than be without Sans anyway.

 

"He's going to hurt us again," Chara groaned inside your head. They sounded incredibly tired. "Going to... He's going to do more of his _sick shit_. You know that. I know it. But you insist on acting like— _Ugh_. You'd just act like you'd never believe me if I told you, right? You don't listen to me. _God_ , I'm so tired of dying _over_ and _over_ again... It _hurts_ ”—very briefly, a pained whine, covered quickly by a burst of outrage—“And all because of that _stupid skeleton_. He's literally _killed_ a bunch of kids. He's a murderer, he's fucking _told_ you!"

 

"I want to help him."

 

" _Help_ him?” They laughed, as if the idea of you wanting to help your friend was so ridiculously incredulous that it was laughable. “Yeah, _right_! You fucking want to _bone_ his ass! I've seen the way you look at him. I can _feel_ it, the gross stuff you feel for him. Oh god, it's so gross. He makes you feel _butterflies—_ "

 

" _Shut up!_ " Your face flushed. You moved back down to hide your face beneath the covers. Sans was so out of it, he didn't even stir. "Oh my god. You have no idea, just. Shut _up!_ "

 

There was a tense moment of silence as you _felt_ , rather than took, a deep breath drawing up somewhere inside of you. It wasn't you. It wasn't you. And then—

 

" _ **Sans~!!!**_ ," Chara almost screamed out, in a mockingly high-pitched, breathy tone. Every fiber of your being cringed at the sound. You hated them, hated yourself, hated— " _Oh,_ _ **YESSS!**_ _AH~!!!_ _Saaaans!_ Do me, _bone_ daddy, I'm Frisk and I'm so desperate for your _magic co_ —"

 

" _Shutupissnotlikethat!!!!_ " you hissed out, face burning all the way down to your neck. You shot your hands up desperately in an attempt to cover your ears, though Chara's voice came from within your head. "It isn't _like_ that! I don't want him to— _do_ things to me. Oh my god, you _perv!_ I just want him to..."

 

Your voice trailed down. Your chest fluttered. And you didn't want to admit out loud that you just wanted him to pay attention to you. To notice you. To... To just give you a chance. Sans thought so little of himself, sometimes. You saw so much in him that he didn't see. And if he would just love you back, even just a little bit...

 

You could make him happy. You knew that you could. And—

 

"You two are gross." You could almost _see_ Chara rolling their eyes. "Both of you. Him more than you, but you're just so _pathetic_. And... FYI? He's going to think you're a real _slut_ if you keep letting him touch you the way he does without even dating. Trust me, I'm not telling you _just_ 'cause it grosses me out and wish you would stop. I was sixteen when I died," they told you smugly, pulling rank. " _Way_ older than you are. I know this stuff."

 

You felt your eyes widen despite you wanting them to, slightly intimidated by Chara being so much older than you were. You hadn't known they were sixteen, that was old enough to drive a car... "I don't need your _dating_ advice," you spat out, trying not to sound childish. "Besides, you probably never even _had_ a boyfriend."

 

They sounded insulted. "Neither have _you!_ "

 

"Yeah, but I'm thirteen!" you defended yourself, flushing, trying to sound more mature. "I have an excuse. And besides”—you mumbled, instantly regretting the words as they came out—“Monsterkid wanted to date, so..."

 

You felt a little bit better, one-upping Chara, but guilty for using Monsterkid's crush on you like that.

 

" _Ugh_ ," Chara huffed out, letting you know that you'd won. You felt a weird sense of victory. "What- _ever_. At least _I_ had a real friend. Someone I could tell anything to. A _real_ one, Frisk. Unlike _you_... _**kiddo**_."

 

That hurt.

 

You looked at Sans, still sleeping. He'd wanted to know more about you but you'd turned him down, hadn't you?

 

“Yup,” now it was Chara's turn be smug and victorious. “Thought so. You don't _really_ trust him, do you. You're always afraid you'll make him leave. And you'd do _anything_ to not be alone anymore, wouldn't you? Pathetic.

 

“He is _literally_ worth less than the garbage in that gross tornado of his and yet you cling to him like he's made of gold or something. Snap _out_ of it. We have to get out of here—”

 

Your heart raced uncomfortably fast.

 

You hated to admit it, but Chara did have a point. You didn't trust Sans. Not with this. But if he found out you were a loser, had always been a loser, a weirdo, a loner— Wouldn't he see sense and start seeing those things in you, too?

 

You still remembered, all too vividly, how much of a _sting_ rejection left in your chest. Seeing your dad favor his kids over you. Being a burden to Mom. Kids making fun of you at school; you were always alone, nobody wanted you... You remembered it too much, too clear, too recent.

 

You'd been just a kid when you fell. Your surface life was an _age_ ago.

 

But your heart felt like it was stuck in your throat and your eyes kind of stung and the leftover pain of rejection felt real.

 

“He's my best friend,” you whispered to Chara, but it felt to you like you were only telling yourself. You ignored the flash of frustration that you felt from them. Instead, you focused on Sans. And wasn't trusting someone with anything, wasn't sharing your secrets, something that best friends did?

 

You kind of didn't know. You'd never had a friend, not really. You had people Underground who liked hanging out with you and people you liked who you could often reassure yourself into thinking liked you back but they weren't people you could _talk_ to about yourself, not _really_ —

 

Just Sans.

 

For some reason it had been always, _always_ just Sans.

 

You should take a chance.

 

He'd told you enough about him.

 

And you found yourself slowly sitting up again and leaning towards Sans. You moved a shaking hand as gently as you could across the side of his sleeping face. You gave him a kiss, like he so often did, very gently just on the side of his forehead...

 

Your heart was racing. You felt suddenly nervous, afraid. But you felt bold, too, despite the way your soul was trembling. You wanted to trust him. You wanted to have a friend.

 

A _real_ one.

 

“Sans?”

 

You heard Chara groan, but the sound was faded now.

 

“Sans, wake up.”

 

You should trust him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to write Chara again. 
> 
> Getting back in the habit of not only writing but actually completing things, slowly but surely... Sorry about the long wait. T_T


	26. Teamwork (I guess)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “SANS WILL SOMETIMES MYSTERIOUSLY VANISH AROUND THIS TIME OF THE MONTH,” Papyrus had told you when you asked, shrugging off what to him was another one of life’s mundane mysteries. “HE IS PROBABLY GETTING HIS FACE STUFFED WITH GREASE AT GRILLBY’S.” He wasn’t at Grillby’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! I'm still alive. I thought I wouldn't post this, but then decided to because why not. 
> 
> This scene is kind of out of order, set probably sometime during the timeline in [chapter 27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752618/chapters/14287039). So basically while Sans is trying to be in a sort of relationship with Frisk, after she starts retaining memories but before he does the big bad and rapes her again. That being said, Creep heavily focuses on the worst possible aspect of Frisk's and Sans' relationship. Like a Feather is still very awful but the horror isn't always as obviously in your face, so I'm adding a few clarifications in the end in case anyone's still reading this.

You lived at the surface, once upon a time. Back then, your mom sometimes got so busy— She couldn’t always come home before you went to sleep. It was normal. You should be used to this.

But it was late. It was nearly pitch black out, down here in Snowdin. The few scattered gem stones in the cavernous ceiling weren’t nearly enough to provide any source of visible light. The street lights had been artificially dimmed to indicate night time. It was darker than normal outside and it was very scary, and nearly half an hour ago Sans had just stopped answering your texts.

This was normal. Back then, your mom sometimes got so busy— You’d repeated that to yourself over and over, but a part of you still felt nauseous and uneasy, you had what felt like cold sludge lodged in at the pit of your stomach. Sans had _never_ —

Sans had never acted like mom. Sans had always acted like he had time for you. And maybe you had just gotten your guard down, and you just _took_ , and you took too much. Maybe he was finally tired of you.

He dropped you once before. Chara’s words echoed in your head. _‘Good riddance.’_

It was dark. Sans wasn’t home yet. And he hadn’t exactly kicked you out, but—

“SANS WILL SOMETIMES MYSTERIOUSLY VANISH AROUND THIS TIME OF THE MONTH,” Papyrus had told you when you asked, shrugging off what to him was another one of life’s mundane mysteries. “HE IS PROBABLY GETTING HIS FACE STUFFED WITH GREASE AT GRILLBY’S.” He wasn’t at Grillby’s.

You wandered through town and Sans’ sentry station before you gathered enough courage and desperation to knock on Sans’ workshop. If he was hiding from you, you didn’t want to intrude… And who really wanted to hang out with _you_ nearly 24/7, like Sans had been doing? He’d ditched you once before…

You were about to run off and just hide someplace when you heard the door unlock. Of course, Sans didn’t actually have to ask who was knocking—

He always knew when it was you.

You opened the door getting ready to immediately apologize for being such a nuisance. You were s _o clingy_. And you were expecting at this point to see irritation clearly visible on his face. You expected him to be annoyed by you, maybe inconvenienced by you, there had to be a r _eason_ why he’d _locked himself in here and away from you_ , _dumbass._

You didn’t expect him to look legitimately happy to see you.

“hey kiddo.” He grinned at you, all the way from where he was sitting at his desk. You closed the door behind you as you processed what it was you were looking at. Sans’ desk was absolutely cluttered in receipts and papers, calculator on the corner weighing down a small stack of envelopes. Sans, pencil in hand, had those glasses he sometimes wore that made his pupils look slightly dilated and bigger—

Oh my god. He had them taped to his skull again, too. You tried not to laugh. He looked _so dorky_.

Sans took one look at your expression and rolled his eyes, grinning rather good-naturedly  even as he removed his glasses.

“Wait! You don’t have to take them off,” you said, trying to reassure him even as you did your best not to laugh.

“’s fine. i only really need them to read the really fine print,” Sans told you. You did notice that he kept the glasses somewhere within reach. “everything alright, kiddo? you looked really worried.”

You froze. How were you supposed to tell Sans that you were feeling lonely and insecure? You’d never actually considered what you’d do once you actually found Sans. Had instead been too focused on what it felt like to be without him. He’d left you once before. You were s _o clingy._

He was your best friend, and you—

Sans was scanning your face, and maybe you didn’t have to say anything. “have you been looking for me…? you look like a kid who didn’t get my last text message.”

What…?

“phone’s dead,” Sans told you, pointing to the device which was charging on a corner. “i tried to text you saying i’d be down here for a while, but i guess it just never sent.”

Oh.

Well, you felt stupid now. Of course Sans’ phone was dead. You immediately felt like you had to walk out. Preserve what was left of your dignity. And it didn’t help that Sans’ expression had completely changed, and now he was eyeing you with a rather smug look on his face.

“heh. y’know what? you also kinda look like a kid who’s missed me terribly.”

Your face started to get hot. Now you didn’t only feel stupid; you felt stupid _and_ embarrassed. “Um. That’s not—”

“that’s alright. i missed you, too,” he told you, pointing at ‘your’ chair near him. Sans had set up a portion of his workshop just for you, so you could paint and draw and do whatever while the two of you hung out here. It wasn’t the first time he’d aim for it, surrounding the chair you usually sat in in gravity-defying magic. Pulling at it until it was next to him, so you could sit at his desk. “c’mere.”

Despite everything you thought you wanted, you froze right in place.

_‘Not so easy to be near him now when you know just what he’s done to you.’_

There was a brief, painful moment where your mind temporarily revisited a flash of something that you wanted to forget. There were many moments like this, increasing in frequency, where Sans—

 _Sans isn’t dangerous_ , you told yourself, repeating the words stubbornly in your head with as much conviction as you could muster. The way he was looking at you— He looked so genuine. You pushed aside every single painful thought out of your head and pushed out Chara’s stupid remarks and forced down your fear and your self-hatred and you

You forced yourself to sit next to Sans, because that was what friends did. You forced yourself to trust Sans, because that’s what you did when you loved somebody.

“What are you doing?” you asked him, hoping that Sans hadn’t read the hesitation on your face, too. Sans gestured towards the several papers in front of you, looking for all the world oblivious to your small hiccup.

“i’ve just been working on our home budget,” Sans told you. “it takes me a while ‘cause i have to gather all the receipts, but after that the process is pretty easy.”

“Oh.” This wasn’t the first time that you didn’t completely understand what Sans was talking about. You looked at the scattered papers on the desk.

Sans had clearly done this many times before and you hadn’t. You felt slightly intimidated, naïve and completely out of your depth. Yet the mess of papers looked frankly intimidating. All the receipts were in a messy pile, Sans’ notepad was mostly empty, and it was late…

And so you offered, you couldn’t help but offer, “Can I help?”

The truth of the matter was that Sans was almost perpetually smiling. But you were used enough to the subtle changes in his expression to read his mood, and understand his thoughts and feelings. It was easy enough to notice how much the pupils of his eyes brightened, flickering ever so slightly as he focused solely on you.

You melted.

“of course you can help,” Sans told you, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating with warmth. Your cheeks felt warm as he gently moved to put his arm around you, handing you a piece of paper with his free hand and leaning in closer to you. “your handwriting’s much better than mine. how about you grab a pencil? i’ll tell you what to write.”

You grabbed the pencil as Sans’ hand slid down to the small of your back, making your cheeks catch fire. Your heart raced, but you sat deathly still. It took so much of you just to keep your hands from shaking. And in the end, he just stroked the small of your back. Leaned in towards you to give you a chaste kiss on the side of your face. You felt your entire body relax as he somewhat pulled apart from you, but why were you relaxing.

What had you _thought_ that Sans would do?

You felt ashamed of yourself.

“fun things first. i’m looking for a list of temperatures,” Sans told you, shifting his attention back to his desk as he used his free hand to dig through the mass of papers. He kept his right hand firmly wrapped around you still, hugging you close to him, making your heart race. “if you see a long list of numbers… sometimes i’ll think ahead and specify that they’re in celcius, but not always, so just look for any list that might be data on temperatures.”

You started looking, too, through multiple scraps of notes and random receipts. Sans could be so unorganized. You didn’t really understand what he was doing or why he needed temperatures. But still, you frantically looked, and when you were finally the one to find it—

“Is it this?” you asked him, almost certain that it was. Sans’ approval of you almost radiated off of him in waves, making you feel proud of yourself. He could so very often make you feel this way. Act like you mattered.

“thanks, kiddo,” he said, sounding sincerely grateful. He pressed his mouth against your cheek with a kiss as he took the page full of numbers from you. Gingerly removed his hand from where it had settled around your waist, used a flash of his magic to move a notebook closer to him and got to work.

Watching Sans set up and then work on math problems always fascinated you. The first thing he did was rewrite all the numbers— Thirteen became a ten, twenty-nine became thirty. He’d once explained to you what he did and why he was doing it. Somehow, your brain had translated that entire lecture to “it’s something too complicated”…

There was something about Sans, quickly working on things you couldn’t dream of grasping in a way that made it seem effortless, that always left you feeling entirely insignificant next to him.

He was… _really_ smart. You felt like such a stupid little kid just sitting next to him sometimes. And maybe that’s why you ended up shifting closer to him. Wrapped your arms around Sans’ coat as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder and

Chara’s voice echoed in your head with an expression of undiluted disgust. You did your best to ignore them as the familiar sense of shame began to pool inside your stomach. And yet as sick as you felt, there was something about the way you saw Sans’ grip tighten around the pencil he held that made you feel slightly better. You liked to think you knew what you were doing, pressing yourself up against Sans like this, but in reality you only knew that there was a part of him that liked your body. Maybe a bigger part of him that just liked you. And you felt desperate to be liked by him, particularly in moments like these when you felt below his reach.

Sans gave you another kiss, a quick peck against your forehead as he kept writing. Turned the page and wrote some more. It soon became rather obvious that your attempt at whatever it was you were trying to do had failed miserably. And in the end, Sans’ page was littered with a series of seemingly random numbers and symbols. They didn’t exactly translate in your head. You felt stupid…

He drew a rectangle around a final number then asked you, “can you write down power bill’s around 400g?”

You felt your eyebrows raising as something finally clicked inside your head, a little too late. As you wrote down what he asked, you asked Sans, “Did you lose the power bill…?”

Sans chuckled. “nah. we already paid that. we’re estimating next month’s numbers, so we can set aside those funds in a separate account.”

“Oh.” You tried to act like you perfectly knew what Sans was talking about and it made perfect sense. You didn’t know at all what Sans was talking about. And it made no sense.

Heat rose again across your face, but this time it wasn’t exactly because Sans was making you feel good. For all you knew, every adult did this. Whatever it was. And you were just an idiot.

You focused solely on the paper in front of you.

And it had been a while— It had been a _long_ while— Since the last time you’d been made this painfully aware of the fact that Sans was already very much an adult, and _you_ weren’t. He was so far above your league, you might as well be crushing on Grillby. And as much as Sans would sometimes make you feel desired, and wanted—

Maybe he had a point, when he became irritated by you and accused you of acting like a little kid. And maybe he had a good reason to why he consistently told you that what he wanted with you wasn’t anything serious.

When Sans once again wrapped his right arm around you, something about his touch made you feel sick. He played with your hair and you let him. You didn’t know why you always let him, but you did.

Maybe there wasn’t anything in particular about your personality that he liked very much. But you _did_ know— He liked your body. He r _eally_ did. And you felt sick with yourself, and you felt dirty, but if this was all that you had to give

Sans wasn’t looking at you as he rearranged the papers on his desk with a burst of magic. His hand on you settled on the back of your neck, running his fingers through your hairline. He was lazily grinning before you noticed his eyes light up with a mischievous flicker, and then he ruffled your hair playfully.

“you know… while you’re at it, you should probably add that the water bill for next month is gonna be 10,000g. now that we have a teenager back in the house.”

“ _Sans!_ ” You tried pushing his arm away, hoping to be able to pull back so you could either glare at Sans or hide your embarrassment. Sans only let out a relaxed chuckle. The humor in his voice as he laughed at your expense was incredibly annoying, no matter how much you tried to ignore it as soon as you realized that he just wanted to tease you.

“you’re right. it’ll probably be closer to 100,000g,” Sans said, still chuckling as he once again pulled you closer to him. Something about the way he held you sent a wave of _something_ travelling down rather nastily down your chest. It spread through your abdomen like fire, raising goosebumps throughout your skin as a blaze of butterflies ignited inside of you.

Sans seemed oblivious, still teasing you, playing with your hair again and continuing to ruffle it slightly. “i still think it was rather incredible how much higher our water consumption got once you turned thirteen. i swear, for a while i thought you might’ve been a _bone_ -fide water monster.”

“Oh my god. Shut _up_ ,” you said, shifting yourself free of him so you could hide your face behind the paper you were holding. Your showers lasted way longer than Sans’… You didn’t _know_ that Sans was keeping _track!_

The wave of embarrassment came into full force and transformed into worry as a thought materialized itself. “Um— Your water bill isn’t really that high, is it?”

You hadn’t intended to sound that small, as you asked him, but something in Sans’ expression still softened. He moved his hand to brush your hair back into place before settling it once again along your waist, giving you a soft squeeze.

“it’s really not,” he said gently, “i was just teasing.”

“But, um—”

“water’s ridiculously cheap. we live right next to the river,” Sans assured you. “it’s not more than 50g usually, tops. you should write that number down on the list.”

You wrote it down, but didn’t quite feel the wave of relief Sans seemed to be aiming for. A thought started nagging at you in the back of your head, slowly solidifying and gaining strength as you looked at the receipts and bills scattered in front of you. You’d practically lived with Sans and Papyrus for over two years. You hadn’t, however, really paid them anything for staying at their place.

You tried to ignore how uncomfortable you were starting to feel. You didn’t have a job or that much gold, so what would you do if you couldn’t offer enough and the brothers just kicked you out? “Um… Okay. How about rent…?”

Sans let out another low chuckle. “200g.”

He sounded too smug. Something was up. “Why so low?” That was less than the electricity bill… That couldn’t be right. It made no sense, right?

“it’s all property tax and insurance. we own the house.”

“But Papyrus said…”

“papyrus _thinks_ we pay rent,” Sans told you with a conspiratory grin. “i bought the house before we moved in. just don’t tell him.”

There was a point in your life when sharing secrets with Sans made you feel special. You didn’t particularly like keeping secrets from Papyrus anymore. “Why would you tell him it’s rent when it isn’t?”

Sans’ hand traveled down to the small of your back. He began stroking you absentmindedly through your shirt, but his attention went back to the list in front of you.

“can you write down 200, sweetie?” he whispered leaning in towards you, touching the piece of paper you were holding with his left index. He was so close, you could smell his breath. You remembered what he tasted like every time he kissed you.

You wrote the number down, 200, as you tried to keep your hand from shaking. Sans was close, _too close_ , and yet he clearly had no intention to do anything bad or hurt you. You couldn’t help but think bitterly that most of your moments with Sans were like this. He wasn’t a _bad_ person. He was just…

When he kissed your temple, you had to fight the urge to turn your face to him and kiss him. Sans often acted in a way that left you feeling _so_ — You felt special to him, and it was intoxicating. It made you want to reciprocate. You imagined his magic sparking against your lips, peppering you with kisses before he inevitably—

~~- _He’s always **touching** you._ ~~

Whatever had started fluttering inside your abdomen twitched and began crawling, burying itself underneath your lungs as you gasped for breath.

There was a dull ache between your legs. The _ghost_ of pain. Pressure building in your throat as _he pressed down down ~~on top of you~~ and  screaming._

Sans was oblivious. Or maybe he didn’t care. He was admiring your handwriting; about the only thing you could do better than him. “you write so neatly, kiddo.”

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. His scent was invading your senses, filling your lungs with the ghost of bad memories. You remembered how slimy his tongue felt, how _thick_ and _overbearing_ and _impossibly gross_ when it was being thrust into you. You couldn’t understand how you could have possibly wanted to kiss Sans just a moment ago. Not that it had even been up to you, had it? If Sans wanted to kiss you…

Old resentments started building up as you _remembered_ , but insisted on telling yourself you were _imagining_ , how heavy Sans felt when his weight plunked carelessly on top of you.

Sans didn’t seem to even notice. He moved the hand stroking you under your shirt. Ran his fingers across your bare skin. It proved Chara right. He _was_ always touching you, and there was nothing you could possibly do to ever bring that to a stop. You were weak. You were useless.

You’d thought Sans was staring at your handwriting until he propped his left arm on the desk, leaning in so he could rest his head on the hand that wasn’t holding you. He wasn’t really staring. He looked almost lost in thought.

“d’you think that i was wrong not to tell papyrus we own the house?”

The question caught you completely off guard. Sans had been doing this, lately— Had started randomly consulting you regarding things you barely understood and had no business commenting in. He seemed to value your thoughts, tried to put into consideration any dumb thing you’d expressed to him.

He’d never asked you to comment on anything regarding Papyrus, though. You’d thought that was too personal.

And yet the way he was looking at you now—

“Um… I don’t know, Sans…” You really didn’t. Sans loved Papyrus over probably anything and everyone else. Now here he was, asking _you_ for thoughts when you barely understood this budget you had offered to ‘help’ Sans with. He’d clearly given you the easier job, clearly didn’t think you were knowledgeable enough to do more than taking notes. So why was he asking about Papyrus…?

His hand was idly caressing the skin under your shirt, but his pupils were bright and fixed solely on you. There was an intensity to his gaze that didn’t feel threatening… nor predatory.

You ended up having to look away. Your face was probably an embarrassing shade of pink. And you couldn’t help but notice, as your mind turned its focus to the way Sans’ fingers caressed the skin of your lower back,

It felt nice, yet there was no magic behind it. It was just his fingertips, bone on skin, and he wasn’t purposely trying to do anything to mess with you.

“i told paps we rented this place years ago when he was still a kid,” Sans told you. You were having a very difficult time comprehending just why he told you. “he couldn’t have been much older than you are. think he was maybe sixteen.

“we moved here after… after i took that job with asgore.” He didn’t want to mention it—didn’t like talking about it with you or the way he got after focusing on it—but you still knew exactly what job he was referring to. Dead children. Your Soul hurt for him. “paps… he was still just a kid but he wanted to help with the bills. so i told him it was cheap rent and all-inclusive, and asked him to set aside money for an emergency fund.”

“Um… Wasn’t it? Cheap rent, I mean?”

Sans sighed, leaning back on his chair and sort of gesturing with his free hand as he talked to you. You became painfully aware of how the hand on your back lowered of your pants’ waistline. “it wasn’t a big deal for me to pay the bills. it still isn’t. and i’m the… i'm the big bro, right? i'm supposed to… paps would’ve insisted on splitting the bills if he’d known how much it really was, but he was just a kid… i didn’t want him to work as much as i did.”

“So you bought a house and didn’t tell him?” you asked him, as gently as you could. Sans would open up to you, sometimes, in a way that made you incredibly aware of how much he shut down anyone else. He’d started doing it more and more since you started keeping memories after resets.

It still felt weird. You were flattered, but you still weren’t completely used to it.

“what would you have done, sweetheart?”

The way he valued whatever you had to say was intimidating.

Sometimes, you worried he might be expecting too much from you. You didn’t want to disappoint him.

And so— “I don’t… I don’t know.”

You felt stupid, as Sans moved his hand out from under your shirt and off your back. He took the pencil you were holding off your hand with a burst of blue magic, making you jump. And then he started writing down numbers—

“ _don’t_ tell papyrus. this is what i make.” There was something about the way he said it. He was talking to you as if he was trusting you, and it made you doubt he’d told anyone else.

Sans wrote three other numbers. “we pay roughly this much in bills per month, this much in groceries. _this_ … heh. this one is solely dedicated to grillby’s tab. we eat there a lot, though it’s gotten to be less now that you’re taking us out on picnics. and then the rest…”

“The rest?” You weren’t super good at math, but Sans had been taking the time to teach you and the numbers along with the bills made little sense.

“what do you mean?” He took one confused look at you. Raised his brow bones as if understanding something and went back to the first number. “no… no this is what i make per week.”

Holy shit.

“There’s no way that’s how much anyone in the royal guard makes,” you told Sans in disbelief. He had to be exaggerating.

Sans just let out another chuckle. “if you’d been paying attention, you’d’ve noticed i have more than one job.”

“But you q _uit_ your hot dog stand, though!” You reminded him.

Sans’ smile diminished slightly. He took one look at you, as if there was maybe something that he wanted to say. “i made some good investments back when i was killing little kids,” he told you, voice strained. There was something to what he was saying and admitting, and how he was watching you. The usual guilt was there, along with something else.

 _‘Hoooly shit. Did you hear him? This guy has to be in the mafia or something_.’ Chara was being extremely ridiculous, but then you lost your train of thought.

“i still save about twenty percent of what’s eventually left over for our emergency fund.” You heard Sans continue, still somewhat sounding and looking off. “more out of habit than anything… though you never know. i could probably die and you and paps would still be fine for life at this point, hah.” He joked. He was obviously joking. But you still reached a hand toward his and squeezed it, and Sans still paused, looking a little bit happier, and then he moved his right hand back toward the small of your back.

“i love you,” he whispered, so low that you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it. He carried on, “the rest used to be a fund for papyrus. i used to save as much as i could and put it all in a savings account in case we… just in case we ever got outta here.” He looked at you, then, as if he was looking at everything that they might be missing. Sans absolutely refused to let you go to Asgore, essentially giving up on ever reaching the Surface. “so he could buy a car and whatnot… my bro has expensive taste.

“well. we don’t need _that_ anymore, but now we have you. i’m still setting money aside of paps’ savings, but i figured you might also wanna do something else with your life eventually, so…”

You interrupted him right then and there. “Please tell me you’re not saving up to buy me a race car.” You were half joking, but then again so must he, because there was no way…

“it’s for whatever you want,” he told you, brushing you off. “for school, or… whatever.”

“Sans,” you felt your face heating up and an embarrassing guilt rush through you. “I’m not even paying you for ‘rent’.”

“you’re a _kid_ ,” he dismissed you, acting for all the world like you were ten and incapable of doing anything for yourself. “i’d never expect you to—”

“I don’t care,” you said, determined to make Sans listen. “I already stay at your house for free. I can’t accept—”

“it’s _your_ house too, frisk.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You felt ashamed and small and entirely inadequate. You didn’t even have a job despite Sans keeping several. Maybe you could get hired at Grillby’s…

Whatever plan had started to form inside your head must have been written all over your face because Sans sighed. He took his hand off of you. “i didn’t tell you all this so you would feel obligated or worried,” he said, looking and sounding suddenly exhausted as he moved slightly away from you. “i don’t expect you to pay for anything while you’re with us. you’re fourteen.”

“But—”

“but you help around the house anyway,” Sans told you. Placed his right hand on your thigh and stroked it. No magic. And you didn’t know if he was trying to soothe you or himself, but the intimacy of it made you feel off. “you always help papyrus cook and you pick up after my slack. you don’t have to, but you do. you're nice to be around. and i… you know I love you. paps loves you, too—but I _adore you_ , kiddo.” Brief strokes on your back. His hand squeezed your thigh. There was the _threat_ of blue magic— Just a hint, but it was there nonetheless.

You tensed up against it.

Sans noticed.

And _this_ time, when he looked at you, there was nothing safe about the intensity of the way he stared at you.

It felt like an eternity before he squeezed your though again and looked away, pupils sharp and hungry.

“so,” he started, voice slightly rougher even as he looked almost flustered. “phone bill. 150g.”

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about. You quickly reached for the pencil.

“entertainment… budget for that’s usually around 600g for the month. we haven’t even gone near that amount since you started insisting on us hiking together for fun.” There was obvious affection in his voice. You couldn’t help but feel a little proud as you wrote the number down.

Sans gave you a few more numbers, then asked you to give him some. In the end, he asked you to add them all up. He actually praised you when you did correctly. Which mortified you.

“It’s just adding stuff, Sans.”

Sans kissed your cheek. “you were a lot of help.”

It was late by the time you finished, yet neither one of you was in the mood to sleep. Papyrus had probably gone to bed about four hours ago. You were in Sans’ workshop… Out of the house. Completely alone.

The mood in the shop changed noticeably and abruptly.

Sans had completely changed the way he was looking at you. There was hunger in his bright pupils, scarily sharp and focused solely on you. You caught him looking at your lips. He wasn’t touching you, but he sure _looked_ like he might.

The silence between you became tense as you pretended to read over what you’d just finished. You kind of wanted to kiss Sans, but weren’t sure you knew how you felt about the fact that you wanted to. You’d already made out with him a bunch of times… What was one more? But this time, it felt different.

Sans had insisted the last time you’d let him make out with you that he wasn’t your boyfriend. It had left you feeling used and dirty, but you didn’t know anything else. What if that was how you were supposed to feel? Sans almost always acted on what he seemed to think was best. And didn’t you owe him? You could make yourself do this. It wasn’t like you didn’t love him. You would have done anything for Sans to love you, anyway.

“frisk,” Sans’ voice had lowered into an almost growl as he stared at you. It sent goosebumps through your skin and—s _omething._ Something warm and scary. Your face felt hot. Your entire body was screaming. Your eyes were glued to the list in front of you.

Sans didn’t move closer to you. Not even an inch. He didn’t touch you, didn’t initiate magic. He just stared at you, intensely, and asked you, “do you want to go to bed?”

 _do you_ want _to?_

He wasn’t asking you to go to sleep. You weren’t naïve enough to not know that much. And you didn’t need help figuring it out, despite Chara’s unhelpful echoes of a scream inside your head. Sans wasn’t asking to sleep. He was asking for sex.

He was _asking_ …

Your heart was racing, so fast and so deafening, you thought it might beat itself out from your chest.

You, Frisk, suddenly felt much smaller than usual next to him. An uncomfortable lump formed in your throat and your hands started quietly shaking. The way he was looking at you—You wished Sans would s _top_. You were nervous, and inadequate, inexperienced and so _small_.

You weren’t ready. You’d pushed yourself toward this what felt like a hundred times, but at the end of the day when it actually came to _sex_ and it felt inevitable, _you weren’t ready._

You were a mess by the time Sans took your hand, and you thought for a frantic moment that he was going to drag you to bed and force the choice out of you. He didn’t. When he spoke to you again his voice was still rough and still hungry but surprisingly, almost painfully gentle. “i shouldn’t have asked you that. sorry. forget i said that.”

_Relief._

Why did you feel guilty being this r _elieved_?

“you should go get some sleep,” Sans continued, looking tired and miserable. “it’s late. i’ve… i still have a few things to do here but i’ll join you in a bit, kiddo.” He was lying. Trying to give you space.

You didn’t know it was possible to feel this _low_ , like you’d rejected him.

“Sans—”

He let out a very tired, drawn out sigh. And maybe you didn’t have to say anything more. “can’t sleep either?”

You nodded. You didn’t know why, but you nodded. Sans took one look at you.

“betcha one post-midnight meal that we’ll find the worst infomercial on channel 3. if i’m right, you have to cook.”

It was random enough that you had to smile, and he knew it. “I bet it’s on channel 8. What will I get?”

“one accusation that you’ve clearly guessed right by being the anomaly, probably followed by a sincere apology and those fried water sausages you like.”

You perked up at that, the promise of food making you realize you were a little hungry. “Okay.”

Sans grabbed your hand to teleport you and stood up. You did the same, and he kissed the back of your hand.

Something twisted in your chest. You didn’t know if it was good or bad, and honestly you didn’t have enough time to ask.

You could have sworn you hadn’t blinked, but you were in the kitchen after a flash of dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So... This whole scene was very wrong. I hope readers do realize this because it's written from Frisk's POV, and Frisk is a 14 year-old kid who doesn't really know any better. She doesn't always see when she's being manipulated, or when Sans is crossing lines. And sometimes she does get a little bit flirty, especially when she's brainstorming ways to not get forced into sex (it's not rape if she lets him, right? ugh.). But she also genuinely does have a huge crush on Sans.
> 
> I'm really struggling here because Frisk is right at that age where she *should* be exploring her sexuality a bit. Holding hands with Monsterkid, maybe going on a few dates and getting her heart broken. So that has to be weaved into this whole thing a tiny bit.
> 
> But instead of some nice kid her age like MK she has a crush on Sans. This fucking guy. The skeletal embodiment of selfish assholery.
> 
> So I really want to make it clear that Frisk is a minor throughout this fic. She could be throwing herself naked at Sans, begging for sex, and it's on him -the adult- to say no and keep a line firmly drawn. But he doesn't. He fails so fucking hard. And none of this is Frisk's fault, none of this is really consensual, this isn't a romantic fic. I hope that came across. I don't know if I'll ever post any of the other stuff that I have... But maaaybe expect a few more disclaimers like this scattered about. I don't know.
> 
> Idk man I'm really tired. But writing this was very fun and I missed doing it sorta successfully.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	27. a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And speaking of things that Sans did for you… You remembered Sans had told you that he had started making room for you in his workshop. Had shown you his start on a little art station for you there, right next to his desk. That was it! You felt determined. Maybe you could work on that today so Sans wouldn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this originally for [dyslex (NSFW)](http://dyslex.tumblr.com). Now it's (somewhat) edited!

You had come home feeling absolutely _exhausted_ from your trip to the Temmie Village, yet it had still taken you and Sans a significant amount of time to fall asleep.

Well—Sans had been wide awake. He had covered you in hugs and kisses until you almost felt like you’d been drowning in affection. It had felt kind of weird, at first, but you weren’t gonna lie—it had also felt nice. There was something about the way that Sans touched you that made you want more of it. And although usually letting him left you feeling off and kind of dirty, there was something about yesterday—With the Temmie Village, and Papyrus, and just having a nice time together— It had made you feel like just this once, it was okay. And maybe what you’d had together wasn’t even a proper date. But it had still left you feeling like Sans really cared about you.

You kind of wanted to stay in bed with your eyes closed for a while, just thinking about yesterday. Meeting all the temmies and Bob had been so much fun.  It had been nice to spend time with Papyrus. It had felt good to let Sans kiss you. And you wanted to stay in bed, and you wanted to contemplate, but the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen was beginning to get distracting and frankly, the way Sans had adjusted you so that his ribs kept pressing into your upper back was starting to make your spine sore.

You tried to move and felt Sans’ arms tightening around your waist. Sans clung to you as you shifted, trying to wiggle yourself away as he burrowed his face on your neck. He muttered a muddled “love you” in his sleep. It made you stop. Your heart beamed. And when you finally freed yourself and jumped out of bed, you couldn’t help yourself and went back to him for a tiny moment so you could kiss his cheekbone.

Sans. This was probably you imagining it, but you could have sworn he was smiling just for you. And he was nice. He _really_ was. You weren’t just telling yourself that… _Chara_.

You spent a record of what was maybe ten seconds debating on whether to wake Sans, then decided against you. The lazybones stirred just to grab and then cling to your pillow. Poor guy. Let him sleep.

You felt like maybe it was going to be a nice day today.

You walked down the stairs with pep in your step. Papyrus was confirmed to be in the kitchen, making breakfast. He beamed when he saw you— Just how early had you woken up? Well. This was clearly the start of what was going to be a very good, productive day. You greeted Papyrus and felt doubly determined. You even offered to help Papyrus cook the now traditional breakfast spaghetti.

“NYEH HEH HEH!!” Papyrus had… laughed. “THAT IS ‘CUTE’ OF YOU TO OFFER, HUMAN. BUT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, COULD COOK THIS BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI LIKE IT WAS A BREEZE AND WITH MY EYE SOCKETS CLOSED. I AM IN NO NEED OF HELP! BUT IF YOU WANT, YOU COULD SET THE TABLE.”

Well… It had been worth a try.

You pretended to eat at the kitchen table with Papyrus and pretended to love his spaghetti, but really you just wanted an excuse to keep Papyrus company before it was time for him to go train with Undyne. You knew Papyrus got lonely, in the mornings. Sans absolutely adored his brother, but at the end (or start) of the day he and early mornings just didn’t mix. Rise and shine was a foreign concept to him. Like Sans had once told you, “an object at rest stays at rest”. Or something like that.

Papyrus made some outlandish proclamation and you laughed, assuring him that he was indeed the best. You and Sans could disagree on many things, but at least you both agreed that Papyrus was incredibly cool.

After breakfast, Papyrus declared that he would now take his weekly opportunity to “GO ON MY BRISK MORNING JOG WITH UNDYNE.” You waved goodbye, then decided to stop at Bonnie’s shop for real breakfast. Bonnie, the bunny shopkeeper, was very nice. She made the best cinnabunnies, served warm and covered in a mix of what she’d told you was cinnamon, sugar, a pinch of nutmeg and butter. You decided to be proactive (Sans would undoubtedly wake up hungry) and got two cinnabunnies, and well—

It had been a while since you’d spent an extended amount of time with Sans.

“Um. Excuse me, but also… Do you have any ketchup left?”

Bonnie looked at you and then laughed, offering you a warm smile before her big, furry paw passed you a bottle. “Jeez, honey. Thought you’d given up the habit.”

“It’s… um. It’s really good,” you muttered, your face feeling a bit hot. You usually pretended to Bonnie that you loved the stuff but in reality you were going to carry it around for just Sans.

Sans was… You weren’t even sure if he did half the weird stuff he did just to mess with you. But you were pretty sure that he actually liked ketchup, even if you also kind of suspected that it may have started off as a joke. Maybe it had become an acquired taste. That was your… Hypothesis? It was the only decent reason you would imagine Sans had started drinking ketchup in the first place, but you hadn’t exactly asked.

When you left the shop, on the way home, you passed the inn.

Sandy’s son, Dylan, was running around in front of it, laughing and pretending he was being chased around by something. You had to laugh. Dylan could be so silly. He’d been just a toddler when you first met him on your first night at Snowdin, but now he was five and he always recognized you and

“Girl! You have to run! There is a cat behind me! Aaaaaaaaah!!!”

“Oh no!” You pretended to be surprised and humored him, but you didn’t run. You were fourteen now, so you were a little too old for doing stuff like that. It didn’t seem like the adult thing to do.

“Aaaaaaaah!!!!”

“Aaaaaah!”

“Aaaaaaaaah!! Oh nooooo! Scary cat!!”

You started smiling for real now and dropped your backpack for a moment, you didn’t know why. “Don’t worry, Dylan! Don’t worry! I will befriend the cat!”

“Nooooooo, giiirl! The cat’s going to eat you!”

“I’ll ask the cat what it wants!”

“Noooooooo! Noooo, giiiiirl!!”

“Here I go!” You pretended to look at the invisible cat. Looked around. There wasn’t really anyone else watching. And maybe this wouldn’t be too embarrassing, if only Dylan was here. “Meow! Meoww!”

The little bunny monster stared at you, wide-eyed and unbelievably impressed. “What did the cat want?”

“He wants a snowcone!”

“A snow cone? When it’s snow? Jeez, cat! Why can’tcha make your own?”

“Maybe the cat needs help,” you offered, starting to kneel on the snow-covered ground so you could make a few of them for Dylan. Then you noticed Bon Bon approaching, though, with her brother on the leash. You jumped back up and stood up a little straighter, cheeks burning hot as you tried to make yourself seem more adult. “Um. I have to go now. Say hi to your mom for me, okay?”

“Okay, girl!”

You walked across town. Passed Grillby’s, passed the Librarby, reached Sans and Papyrus’ house.

Went right upstairs. Confirmed Sans was still sleeping. Left a cinnabunny on his nightstand, kissed Sans’ cheekbone again, left.

 

When you checked the time, it wasn’t even 9:00 AM yet. You were feeling determined still, feeling productive. But when you looked around you, the house looked impeccable. You’d helped Papyrus clean the kitchen before he left, but apparently sometime between the last half hour Papyrus had cleaned it again. Maybe went back home to do it before his morning jog…? It was a mystery to you how he always had so much energy to do everything.

The only thing left to clean in the house, found during your inspection, was another one of Sans’ socks on the floor. Papyrus had definitely seen it: it had a sticky note meticulously placed on top of it. This looked too much like the start of another sticky note cold war for you to ignore it. You picked up the sock and put it away.

It wasn’t like you minded cleaning up after Sans. He did other things for you, too.

And speaking of things that Sans did for you… You remembered Sans had told you that he had started making room for you in his workshop. Had shown you his start on a little art station for you there, right next to his desk. That was it! You felt determined. Maybe you could work on that today so Sans wouldn’t have to. He did like to work on his own stuff sometimes… It would be nice to be able to draw or paint next to him, do your own stuff too while the two of you hung out.

Of course, though… This being Sans, the workshop was a complete mess.

You opened the door with the key he’d given you and began to assess the situation. Sans seemed to keep these weird areas where it seemed extremely important for the area to be meticulously clean, but his desk wasn’t one of them. There were what must be like twenty socks somehow scattered under, over and around his desk. Likewise, socks and dust all over his broken machine, yet a specific area of the table counter looked impeccable. A series of instruments were meticulously lined up right over it; you decided it would be best not to mess with that. Probably best not to go anywhere near Sans’ machine, either.

Sans’ desk, though, looked too messy to ignore and so you started off with that. Started to rearrange the loose papers on top of his desk, or at least tried to. You made an attempt to line up the big messy pile into smaller, neater piles until you ran into one with a bunch of complex math equations. In a corner, there was a rather badly drawn face in pen and the words “love this kid”.

There were scribbles and lines on top of it, like he’d immediately tried to erase it, but—

Your heart skipped a beat. How long had Sans felt that was about you? _Did_ he, really…? But at the same time, you felt like maybe you were intruding here. Maybe Sans’ desk was personal, and you shouldn’t have really been messing with it.

That was probably right. Your face burned with embarrassment not for the first time that day. And you decided to focus instead on cleaning the floor, discarding the trash and the multiple open condiment packets.

 

You had settled into a rhythm and had started scrubbing the floors when your phone beeped twice. It never did take Sans long to realize you were away from him, and he never _ever_ failed to know exactly where you were instead.

You unlocked your phone to two messages and the knowledge that it was now about a quarter to 11:00 AM.

Sans – knock knock

Sans – kenya

You stared at the screen, reluctant and guilty. There was a rush of anxiety you didn’t want to be feeling. Sans was— You had to wonder if Sans was mad, if he didn’t even give you the chance to maneuver yourself out of his corny jokes.

You – Kenya who?

Sans – kenya tell me what it is you’re doing over there?

Yeah… He was more than a little upset. He had to be. Your heartrate went up a little but you told yourself you weren’t scared.

You – I was cleaning up the space you said I could have?

No use specifying you were in his workshop. He knew.

You – Why don’t you come over here and see?

There was a moment, and then your phone beeped in your hand.

Sans – knock knock

A moment’s hesitation, but he didn’t cut you off. You decided to humor him.

You – Who’s there?

Sans- irma

You sighed.

You – Irma who?

Sans – irma very lazy bag of bones

…

Ugh.

You – Ha ha *ha*. You bag of dork.

You – Come down here and help me clean.

There was a moment’s pause and then the feeling of a subtle breeze behind you.

You rolled your eyes and turned around. “Sans.”

He had a sleepy expression and he looked like he had legitimately just woken up a minute ago, but his smile looked genuine. “hey—”

“When are you going to learn to use your feet.”

“i’ve tried, but it never stuck,” Sans told you. He sounded almost sincere, but you could see how the lights twinkled in his eye sockets as if it were happening in slow motion.

No. No, _wait_ —

“so I admitted de-f _eet_.” He was grinning with that stupid, dorky mischievous grin of his.

“Oh my god,” was all you could say. Tried not to give Sans any more of a reaction or else you knew the puns would never stop. It felt like a losing battle; the more you tried to keep a neutral face, the funnier Sans’ stupid joke sounded. Not only that,  but your heart had just made a gigantic flip over that dumb way Sans was looking at you.

You looked away from Sans, but—

“wow, kiddo. so serious all of a sudden.” Oh no.

“acting really mature. are you trying to get grillby to give you a senior discount?” If annoying the heck out of you were a sport, Sans could give coaching lessons.

“because let me tell ya, hate to break it to you but he doesn’t really offer any.” …

“b only gives discounts to old flames.”

Ppppffft. Oh my god. Okay. You coughed. Trying your best to mask your laughter, secretly loving and hating how Sans immediately looked so pleased with himself. “You’re in a good mood today,” you pointed out.

Sans’ grin widened, giving you a particularly pleased expression that you began to suspect had nothing to do with his successful joke. Instead of telling you, though, he just shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve had a nice day.”

“You just woke up.”

Sans winked at you. “and had breakfast.”

Oh no. The stupid cinnabunny you’d left on his nightstand.

You felt your face heat up at the mere mention of that stupid pastry. Why had you done that? Sans already treated you enough like a lovesick puppy. You forced yourself to roll your eyes, hoping that Sans would read this as you being cool and detached and not really caring. Stuck out your tongue at Sans. Immediately regretted it. (What _were_ you? _Twelve?_ )

Sans didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, closing the distance between you so that he could playfully boop your nose and then hug you. You felt him kiss your forehead. Maybe he couldn’t actually feel the steam from your face as you sort of buried your face in his neck. And

_Ugh._

_Thump, thump._

“thanks a lot, frisk.” The way he whispered that. You almost screamed.

He let go of you and you had to deal with the fact that not being held immediately decreased your mood by the tiniest bit. You weren’t needy. You weren’t needy.

“wow, kid. the place looks much better,” Sans told you, taking a look around his workshop with a glow in his pupils and a very sincere expression. The sheer appreciation in his voice left you drowning. You s _till_ weren’t used to his praise, not even when he showered you daily with it. “did you really want to do all this?” He checked with you.

You would have tidied up the entire Underground for him. “I just cleaned around a little bit,” you managed to say. Shrugged, desperately trying to act cool as you fought back what hopefully wasn’t a noticeable blush. Your affection for Sans was manifesting itself inside your chest at full force, pounding against your ribcage and threatening to consume you. This was what love was, right? You were definitely, _definitely_ in love with Sans. More than that. You loved him.

Sans raised a browbone.

The silence that suddenly fell between you felt crushing. It added weight to the air around you as you noticed, a little bit too late, that Sans had actually begun inspecting. Anxiety took over you when Sans began to look puzzled, but didn’t say anything, but started to look around the workshop like he was scanning for something.

You tried to stop it, but began to get nervous. Had fixing this place a bit been too weird? Intrusive? You didn’t even think about it before, but actually coming into Sans’ place and cleaning it without being asked might not have been that okay. You shared Sans’ room, but just his room. Actually, you didn’t even share Sans’ room; you just slept in it. And even if you shared the room, wasn’t the workshop different? Sans often treated this place as a sort of sanctuary. And what if you had messed it up? This was a place dedicated for all of Sans’ sciency things. What if you had ruined it? You were too stupid to understand almost anything Sans ever did here. What if you had messed it up?

You came to the conclusion that Sans hated you for having intruded at about the same time Sans focused his attention on his half-organized desk. His pupils actually lingered there for what felt like uncomfortable eternity. And you were about ready to get shouted at or pushed away. Nobody wanted you. Why had you intruded on Sans’ stuff like that? Was _this_ how you were going to repay him for

His attention went back to you and maybe he saw the way you’d stiffened, but he looked away from you again and away from his desk and you could almost swear his posture changed. He looked incredibly relaxed. And maybe it was the lazy grin or the way his hands just idly went to his pockets, but you didn’t feel like he was going to yell at you. The lights of his eye sockets briefly went back to his desk but _this_ time it was like he didn’t even think anything about it.

You didn’t know how Sans could even do that. Just read you, notice things about you just like that. But he started to look like he was actively looking for something to reassure you with.

 You didn’t want him to bother. Tried to distract him instead, make him think about anything but you. “How did you sleep?” _God._ What a stupid question. So fucking _stupid_ and cringe-inducing, _Frisk_.

Sans didn’t seem to hear your question. He was too busy walking across the room, towards his broken machine. You had gotten rid of the fine layer of dust that had been clinging to the sheets that covered it, and you could tell that Sans had noticed by the way he ran his fingers along the fabric. He lifted the sheets and looked at the machine that you hadn’t dared uncover. Sans claimed it was broken, but you couldn’t help but notice that it looked brand new. The metal was still shiny, there was no dust or cobwebs. You didn’t know what the machine was meant to even do, and that alone intimidated you.

Sans seemed to know, looking at the machine with an air of familiarity. He lifted the sheets up further, looking at something or other, you didn’t know what exactly. “so… can’t believe this is _our_ workshop now,” he told you, sounding for all the word like he was saying it out loud so that he himself could hear it. “huh.”

He let go of the sheets, letting them drop over the machine once again as he walked away from it. Moved to the drawers instead and started opening them randomly. Maybe to inspect your work? You really hadn’t dared open them. “i’d been thinking of clearing out a few drawers for your stuff. most of them are full of junk. i wouldn’t mind tossing it,” Sans said. “or maybe you could just use part of my desk. whatever you want. _tibia_ -nest, just thinking about rearranging all this is making me feel lazy. i wouldn’t mind if you decided to do it.” He gave you a shameless grin.

“Um… But—” He really didn’t mind?

“there’s no harm in moving stuff around as long as you can open the drawers,” Sans told you, opening up every single one of the top drawers as if to prove a point. “some drawers, you can’t”—he made a show of trying to open one from the middle—“they’re locked closed with my magic. ‘s not because you can’t see them… i can show them to you, if you want.” There was a spark of blue as he unlocked the drawer, opening it to reveal a neat stack of papers within. Sans gestured towards it. “but it’s pretty important  work i did with gaster. back when…

“i’ve told you about gaster,” Sans elaborated. “the last royal scientist. we did some research on potential uses for determination and a bit of math on a theoretical alteration of timelines. the stuff, heh… coincidentally, the stuff that you just seem to be able to do. i’m not keeping the documents locked away because it’s some big secret. it’s just… irreplaceable. everything else is fair game. just don’t throw anything out if it looks important or like i have worked on it.”

“But Sans—”

“i trust your judgement,” Sans told you, so convincingly that even you could believe it. “and i want you here. you have no idea how much i’ve daydreamed about spending time here with you when we’re out hiking.”

You smiled.

 

Sans spent a record-breaking forty minutes after that just helping you clean and organize. Well… ‘Helping’ you clean and organize. He spent most of those forty minutes lazily sitting on his desk, pretending to organize the same stack of papers as you did most of the work for him.

He told jokes every so often. He was in a good mood, plus you were pretty sure he had a joke book hidden underneath his papers.

You found an old clock in one of the top drawers. “This clock’s on the wrong time.”

“don’t fix that,” Sans answered quickly. His tone sounded a little urgent. You made a mental note to remember this clock seemed important and carefully placed it back in the drawer.

 

“knock, knock.”

“Sans, no.”

“c’mon, sweetie. please?”

Your head was beginning to hurt from staring at all of Sans’ old papers, trying to make sense of them so that you wouldn’t accidentally toss anything important. Only pretty much _anything_ with a bunch of numbers written on it seemed important, and that was probably about 90% of Sans’ papers. Your designated junk pile so far was rather small despite all the time you’d spent sorting through this stuff; it mostly consisted of empty wrappers and a pile of crumpled up papers that, upon further inspection, were just Sans’ several failed attempts to play hangman with himself.

Sans had dropped all pretense of helping you about fifteen minutes ago. He was now just happily resting his head on top of the papers he had ‘organized’ on his desk. You could feel his attention on you as he sought out ways to distract you. It would have gotten annoying by now if you didn’t like his company so much. A few of the jokes he had come up with so far were even funny.

You took a deep breath and tried to clear your head enough to make your headache go away. Decided to humor Sans. “Fine. Who’s there?”

Sans’ grin was so wide it almost made whatever bad joke this was going to be worth it.

“i love.”

Your face heated up a little. “I love who?”

“you’re so sweet. i love you too, kiddo.”

The smile on your face lasted a long time after that.

 

You were starting to feel hungry but you were s _o close_ to being done.

Sans had fallen asleep about half an hour ago, because of course he had. It was getting late enough that you were wondering if you might as well just skip lunch. Sans’ light snoring kept you company, and your thoughts sometimes drifted from your task at hand to wondering how Sans could even snore in the first place. He was a skeleton.

You felt a burst of energy as you felt you could finally stare at the finish line. You had successfully cleared three whole drawers and neatly organized most of the rest. Now you were opening your very last bottom drawer; upon immediate inspection, you could tell this one would be easy. Most of the stuff here was crumpled up or dirty. There was a crusty sock and an old, dried-out ketchup packet at the top of the pile. It seemed to you that you had found Sans’ junk drawer. This should be super easy to organize since most of the stuff here looked like it should be tossed.

Digging through, you found a page full of puns. Most of them seemed awful, and the page itself was so dirty that it was a no-brainer to toss it.

You found an old flier for a comedy show dated XX03 and marveled at it. Whoa. This piece of paper was actually older than you. It was a list of featured comedians. Was Sans keeping it for reference or—

That was Sans’ name on the flier.

Oh my god.

You threw the flier at the ‘to keep’ pile and tried to make yourself immediately forget about it. It took an inhuman effort from you to ignore the sound of Chara’s sudden burst of laughter as their words echoed somewhere in your head. (“He’s _old!_ He’s _so old!!_ ”)

You found an old wrapped candy bar with an expiration date from eight years ago. You tossed it.

Some more fliers. You didn’t even look at these at this point. Just set them aside on the ‘to keep’ pile. Maybe they were keepsakes. You didn’t know.

Empty wrappers. Toss.

Broken calculator. Toss.

Bent paperclips, a bladeless pencil sharpener, random lids…

Toss. Toss. You were almost done!

You lifted a dirty envelope with a footprint on it and then saw it, an old polaroid falling out.

Your heart sank before you even realized why. Started pounding in your chest, hands feeling cold and clammy. It was a picture of a naked bunny monster, smiling at the camera and covered in blue—

Sans. You didn’t register at first how you knew what was covering the bunny’s stomach, but it was Sans’. It was Sans’. That was his bed.

There was a stinging in your eyes and ringing in your ears and the pit of your stomach hurt, it _really_ hurt, you didn’t even know what you had done with the photograph but now it wasn’t in your hands and you were putting

Putting stuff back. Putting everything back. Your face was warm and wet. You couldn’t think. And was the bunny monster _happy_?

(She looked like the innkeeper.)

You pushed the drawer shut and leaned against it. Wanted to sob, but Sans was still here.

Sans was sleeping. You felt a dull pain from in between your legs and didn’t want to place it. Imagined the blue string of ooze in the picture clotting up inside of you, dirtying you, you could almost feel what it felt like, what it _would_ have felt like, you were suffocating, you felt hurt and disgusted and

 _Jealous_.

You felt unbelievably, _unbelievably **jealous**_. You had never felt quite this angry. That w _as_ a picture of the innkeeper and you didn’t care if it had been taken years and years ago. Your stomach hurt and so did your back. Sans could get aggressive with you when you so much as kissed. _Why_ didn’t Sandy look at all _hurt_?

Did he hate you? Sans? Your shirt felt wet, either from tears or from sweat or from

You wanted to vomit.

Sans _hated_ you.

You wanted to die. _Very_ sincerely. You didn’t think anybody would really miss you at this point.

Sans was snoring in his sleep.

You didn’t know why, but you focused on that.

It took you a long time of staring at the drawer before you felt like you even had legs to move. The tears on your face had dried at this point. You felt empty.

You got up and didn’t even know why you did it. But you went to Sans. Wished you could bury your face in his coat despite him sitting down, leaning on his desk.

You sort of pulled at his coat, undecided on whether you wanted him to wake up or sleep through it.

When he opened his eyes, he gave you a lazy grin. It lasted a split second, and then the worry that took over him let you know that your eyes must be incredibly red.

“Your stuff was really dusty,” you complained. Couldn’t really muster up the energy to put any emotion into it.

“I’m tired.” He seemed to buy it. “Let’s take a nap?”

“whatever you want.” Like always, he seemed to genuinely want to make you feel loved and happy. So why did you feel like…

Like garbage.

 “frisk… you sure you’re alright?”

You wanted to ask him if he loved you. Make him confirm it over and over.

You couldn’t do it. “My mind is full of math because of all your papers.”

Sans raised a brow bone.

“And I’m _exhausted_. But your drawers are super organized now.”

You weren’t sure if Sans completely believed you, but he didn’t push you.

Maybe you’d wanted him to. But you s _ure_ weren’t going to let him.

Made yourself lean against him. “One free teleport please?”

A snort coming from Sans. “i thought you said i should use my feet.”

“I thought you _admitted de-feet_.”

The second he stood up so he could grab you properly, you hugged him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dys wanted a jealous Frisk. I know the picture thing is sort of jammed in there and the entire scene doesn't really fit but who really expects to find furry nudes of their skeleton almost-boyfriend.
> 
> Also is it bad that Sans legitimately caring about Frisk is my favorite thing to write in Feather. I don't get to write about it nearly enough in Creep because it doesn't really fit Sans' guilty 'i'm such a bad man' POV but here when Sans is nice it's almost everything that Frisk will focus on.


End file.
